In the Name of the Rose
by F12Scuderia
Summary: Nobody—that is what she is. A young woman with a borrowed name and house. No family to return to and no one to welcome her back. Her blood alone remains: the blood no one wants. Yet she is the Nobody who sets the game of cat and mouse into play—to determine the hunter and the hunted between nobles and traitors. (Charles Grey/OC)
1. Hunting

**Chapter 01**

 _ **Hunting**_

* * *

"Hey, Ciel! How do I look?"

"You're fine, Lizzie…"

"Eh~? But you didn't even look!"

Ciel Phantomhive sighed and looked up from the newspaper in his hands. Standing before him was his ever-so-cheerful fiancée, giving an elegant twirl that had her golden curls bouncing about her shoulders. Like himself, Elizabeth wore a dark blue leather coat, cream trousers, and black knee-high boots. While her coat was trimmed with fur around the collar, Ciel's coat remained otherwise simple.

"It suits you very well, Lizzie," he assured her for what seemed to be the umpteenth time.

"Really?!" Lizzie's green eyes gleamed as she turned towards the butler standing on her right. "Do I really look cute in this, Sebastian?"

"But of course, Lady Elizabeth," Sebastian answered, his voice soft and kind. He poured tea and offered them to the two young nobles. "Would you have some Darjeeling tea as you wait for Miss Stanmore?"

Elizabeth took the seat and stole a glance at her fiancé. As usual, Ciel was in his pensive mood again−staring out the window, but his eyes were blank. It worried her that he should be looking so distracted despite the very promising weather. She opened her mouth to speak, to say something to keep his attention from whatever was distracting him, but nothing came to mind.

Suddenly, the gardener and housemaid came bursting through the doorway.

"She's here, she's here!" Finnian announced excitedly.

"Miss Stanmore has arrived," Mey-Rin added.

"Ah, perfect!" Elizabeth jumped up from her seat and grabbed Ciel's hand. "Come on, let's go! We cannot keep her waiting like this!" But she was already running out, followed by the two servants, while Sebastian only snickered at her never-ending energy.

Ciel rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Tell me again why she's even here in the first place. I thought Aunt Francis only needed to do something."

"Indeed, Young Master." Sebastian escorted his master as they went out of the dining hall and traversed the hallway leading to the mansion's foyer. "The Marquis and Marchioness Midford have state business with their colleagues in Kent, while Master Edward remains in Weston College. They are entrusting the Lady Elizabeth to us only for a few short days."

"At this rate, she would tear the whole manor apart for her entertainment," Ciel grumbled.

Upon reaching the foyer, Elizabeth had already thrown her arms around the newcomer. She kissed the woman's cheek before stepping away and giving another twirl, to show off her outfit. "Well, Miss Stanmore, what do you think?"

"You look very lovely, Lady Elizabeth." Then she looked up and saw both master and servant atop the stairs, making their way down to them. She offered a little respectful bow to the earl and a nod to his butler. "You are looking rather well, Earl Phantomhive. Matching suits, I see," she noted, teasing.

"Nina's doing," Ciel huffed, looking away, "and Lizzie's idea."

"I knew from the start the two of you would make an amazing couple."

"Really?!" Lizzie's eyes sparkled once more, as she clapped her hands and sighed dreamily. Then she snatched Ciel for a tight embrace and smiled. Despite the earl's flustered complaints, she was undeterred.

Sebastian smothered his laugh, before turning to the guest. "Miss Stanmore, I have finished the preparations for today's quiz. Shall we head over to the stables and begin at once?"

"Oh, that's right." She turned to the young nobles and said, "It is about time we start, Earl Phantomhive. Are you ready?"

Ciel smirked, the confidence evident in his face. "Bring it on. Let me show you what I have." He pulled Lizzie along towards the stables, with Sebastian and their guest following behind them.

"You must know that the young master has been looking forward about this ever since last week," Sebastian said in a whisper, as if confiding secrets. "You alone make him very competitive, Miss Stanmore."

She smiled at that. "I am glad to hear. His competitiveness alone makes him very different from my other students. I shall see what he wants to show me today." Then she paused as they were approaching the stables, and tugged at the butler's sleeve. "Oh, and one more thing, Mister Butler−it's Cara."

He tilted his head to the side, then smiled. "Forgive me, but since you are the master's teacher, I cannot call you by your first name. You may, however, call me by my name every time you wish."

She shrugged, defeated. "Very well."

The forest behind the Phantomhive Manor stretched as far as the eyes could see. An old forest that had surrounded the manor for generations, it smelled of damp earth and pines. There were tree trunks that were huddled against each other, some overgrown trees pulled out of its roots, while dense trees with twisted branches and grey-green leaves made a shadowy canopy for a few meters. The road wound up ahead, disappeared after several steps, then reappeared again on the other side of the forest. Somewhere up ahead, a stream made relaxing flowing noises.

Sebastian was the first to stop. They were in a small clearing in the middle of the forest, too far away from the mansion now. He assisted Elizabeth first, and then his master, on climbing down the large stallion.

Cara smiled at the sight before her. "You overdid yourself, Mister Butler."

"Not at all," Sebastian answered, very humble. "I wish to see my young master excel in his studies, and to make a good show for his teacher and fiancée."

Ciel rolled his eye and fetched his rifle. He glared at the five targets lined up on the other side of the clearing, each bearing the striking colors of white, black, blue, and red. His marksmanship, as he never failed to boast, had become better since the last time he saw his teacher. Better to boast again this time, just in case.

"So, how are we going to do this?" He shot his teacher a challenging gaze and a little smirk.

"Quite simple, really. You must hit all the targets at the center. Misses would not be tolerated. Only then could you proceed with the next part," Cara explained with hands on her hips. Her own rifle was slung across her back. She wore a red coat and white trousers, with the same knee-high boots as Ciel and Lizzie. Her hair, thick and black as ink, was pulled up into a high ponytail.

"Seems a little easy, wouldn't you agree?" Ciel goaded on.

Cara stared at the five targets ahead, then down at the thirteen-year-old earl. He was oozing with confidence, something that she admired in him. "I suppose you're right," she said at length. "Either way, you have thirty seconds to hit all your targets."

"Wait, thirty−?"

"Twenty-eight more if you keep slacking, Earl Phantomhive."

"Go, Ciel! You can do it!" Lizzie cheered at the top of her lungs.

With gritted teeth, Ciel dropped to one knee, aimed his rifle at the westernmost target, and fired. Bullseye. He swiveled to his right, aimed again, and fired. Bullseye. Behind him, Lizzie continued shouting and Sebastian remained watching, his ruby eyes following the movements of his master as Ciel continuously fired rounds until there was one target left. Then, without hesitation, he fired his final shot and hit the central mark. Birds shot out of the trees and took into the skies.

"Wonderful," Cara beamed at him. "And only twenty-five seconds elapsed. A new record for you."

"Right," Ciel panted as he stood up. He swept his sleeve across his forehead and tossed the rifle to his butler. After catching his breath, he looked at his teacher. "What next?"

"Does hunting sound good to you?" she asked.

"I never back out on challenges, you know." Ciel climbed back on his horse with Lizzie embracing him from behind. "You lead the way, Miss Stanmore."

"If you insist." Cara jumped back to her horse and went in front, leading them further into the forest.

Lightning-scarred trees flanked the road, along with thick and verdant vegetation and wildflowers. Every once in a while, Elizabeth would squeal for sheer joy of seeing a pair of bunnies, a doe with its calf, and a train of squirrels passing by. They stopped beside the stream marred with mossy rocks.

"We could start here," Ciel declared, swerving his horse to the right. He looked over his shoulder and whispered to his fiancée. "You have to get down for now, Lizzie. I cannot lose any challenge at all."

"I understand." Lizzie smiled and nodded, as Sebastian lifted her off her seat and settled her to the ground. "Would you be careful for me, Ciel?"

"You know I would," he promised. "And I would be back soon." He then glanced up at his teacher. "How long do I have to do this?"

Cara simply stared at him and Lizzie. "You do make quite a cute couple," she teased, making the young earl blush furiously.

"You're not listening at all!" Ciel shouted, still flustered. "How long is the time limit?!"

"Well, since you are so fixated for a competition−" She cast a sidelong glance towards the other side of the stream, where the forest seemed denser and quieter−"an hour would do perhaps."

"An hour?!" Ciel complained. "You do know that hunting takes about at least three hours to find good game and make the chase, right?"

She blinked, trying to seem innocent. "Oh, does that mean you quit, Earl Phantomhive?"

"Quitting is never in my vocabulary!" Then Ciel was off towards the northern end of the stream, before disappearing.

"Then I shall be heading this way," Cara said, pointing across the stream. She caught Sebastian's amused stare and smiled back, quite cheerful. Her horse bolted forward, powerfully fighting off the current of the stream, and then emerged on the opposite shore. In a short while, she disappeared between the columns of trees.

Exactly an hour later, Ciel returned to show off his proud work: six pheasants, two foxes, and one buck with antlers so long it seemed to protrude in every directions. Lizzie was upon him at once, rubbing her cheek against his and complimenting him for a job well done. After shrugging her off and fixing his dark blue coat and hat, Ciel searched around the stream for any signs of his teacher.

"Where's Miss Stanmore?"

"She's just about−Oh! Here she comes!" Lizzie exclaimed.

Cara crossed the stream and smiled down on all of them. "Oh, have I been out for so long?"

Yet Ciel was unconvinced. He observed her and the horse, but found nothing else with them. "Where's your hunt?"

"Hm? Oh, I was not hunting at all, Earl Phantomhive," Cara said, still all smiles. She turned to Sebastian and shared a quick knowing glance with him. "But you still did very well today, Earl. Such good improvement from last week. You have graduated from target shooting to actual shooting."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ciel inquired.

"It means you did very well today, Earl Phantomhive."

Sebastian stepped forward and bowed. "It grows late, Young Master. It is time for you and the Lady Elizabeth to return to the manor. It would take quite some time to get back, seeing as we have travelled further this time." His voice then dropped into a low whisper. "And it seems we have guests."

Ciel caught the implication, nodding. "I see. I can find our way back to the manor. You and Miss Stanmore clean up here."

"Are you sure, my lord?"

"Of course." Ciel slung his rifle across his back and smirked. "I did a job well done today, didn't I? That means I could still do well for the rest of the day. Come, Lizzie, let's head back."

The butler helped the two nobles settle on their horse, and watched as they headed towards the previous trail. He did not to strain his eyes to know that despite his master's own frail physicality, he performed quite well in his lessons for the day. His master might be small and thin, but his competitiveness and pride always overruled his bad physical state.

"Clean up, huh?" Cara mused, still atop her bay horse. "Is that a Phantomhive term that means something?"

"I believe so." Sebastian chuckled, tearing his gaze off the road. Instead, he cracked his knuckles, smoothed down his black coat, and checked at his pocket watch. They had enough time to spare for cleaning up the mess out here. He turned back to his companion. "Shall we, Miss Stanmore?"

"Yes, but gently, Mister Butler."

Exchanging smiles, the two raced across the stream in perfect rhythm: Cara on her horse, Sebastian on his feet. Upon entering the forest, they dispersed, with the young woman taking the right and the butler taking the left.

Cara reared her large horse towards a thick bush; and suddenly, a man emerged from underneath, screaming as the horse drove its heavy and powerful hooves down to his skull. There was a panicked scream and a wet squelch of blood, and then Cara ran her hand soothingly against the horse's mane to calm him down.

On the other side, Sebastian engaged five trespassers in combat: he evaded their guns and delivered a roundhouse kick to the nearest man, while still dodging the upcoming bullets. He jumped to one of the branches, took out knives and forks from his pocket, and sent them flying to his enemies. When he landed on the ground, still with catlike elegance, the trespassers were all dead.

"Oh well," he mused, fixing his raven hair. "You could have at least sent a letter that you're all visiting. I might have prepared some good tea for you, gentlemen." Then he heard sudden gunshots. "So it would appear Miss Stanmore might be having a difficulty?"

"Bastard−" Another enemy burst from the column of trees and fired relentlessly at him.

"How rude," Sebastian mumbled, springing into the air and twisting the newcomer's neck. "To delay me while I am planning to help a damsel in distress." He chuckled at his own joke and dashed to find his companion.

Cara was still on her horse, adamant on simply riding her enemies down. She charged toward one of the enemies, but he pulled out a revolver and fired at the horse's chest. It collapsed to the ground, taking Cara with him, surrounding them in a cloud of dust.

As the enemy was coughing and rubbing at his eyes, Cara snatched the revolver from his hands and tackled him to the ground. She pinned him there with her foot pressed against his throat, while her purple eyes−wide with curiosity−were examining the revolver.

"This is a new model, is it not?" she observed, turning the weapon over and over. "Made from America more like it. The Americans do have a way for out-manufacturing us when it comes to firearms."

"W-Wench!" the man underneath her screamed. His hands tried to pry her boot off his throat, but she pressed even harder, choking him instead. "You… You…"

"Don't worry. I would give it back." She checked the barrel as three more appeared from the bushes and aimed their revolvers at her.

The enemies fired and she ducked out of the way, grabbed her captive by his collar, and stood up again, using him as a shield against the onslaught of his comrades. She marched towards the three, her human shield in place, while her left hand shot out and gunned the three down where they stood. The sounds of shots echoed throughout the whole forest.

Someone crept behind her and pulled out a pocketknife. He surged forward, aiming for her nape.

Cara heard it slicing through the air and responded accordingly: she dropped to the floor, placed both hands flat against the earth, and drove all her power to an upward kick. Her heel caught the assailant's chin and she whirled on the floor, her other leg darting out to rob her assailant of his balance. The man fell next to her, still stunned from the first kick. Before he knew it, Cara was on top of him. She took his knife and drove it deep into his neck.

Feeling someone else's presence, she twisted and saw Sebastian's cheery smile. "You're finished?"

"I am," he said, approaching her. His ruby eyes assessed the entire scene. Four men riddled with bullets, one with a knife sticking from his neck. "You work neatly, Miss Stanmore. No traces of blood. As expected of the young master's hunting teacher."

"It's nothing so extravagant." She stood up, dusted her white trousers off, and glanced at the horse. "Tell Earl Phantomhive I did not mean to have one of his horses dead. Perhaps he could simply deduce it from this month's salary−"

"There would be no need for that," he assured, winking. "The young master certainly would not mind in the slightest. Now, should we head back to the manor as well? It is almost time for late afternoon tea. As per the young master's request, I prepared your favorite strawberry and cream shortcake, along with Earl Grey tea."

Her stomach grumbled at once. Then her cheeks turned scarlet. "O-Oh, no! It's _not_ what it looks like! I mean−"

Sebastian tried to hide his smile behind his glove. "I suppose that means we should hurry back. You would not mind if I carry you back to the mansion, to make things faster?"

Cara shook her head, quite embarrassed now. "Not at all, Mister Butler…"

"In that case," he said as swooped down and carried her in his arms, "there's no time to waste, Miss Stanmore."

* * *

The two Secretarial Officers put down their binoculars, as one of them broke from the line to return to the massive horse-drawn carriage. They retained out of sight−not too far to lose sight of their subjects, yet not too close to attract attention. Once the guns started firing, one of them grinned and prowled closer, his eyes fixed upon the young woman with a revolver.

"We should be entering through the front door," Charles Phipps reminded his partner, who was still so excited at the thought of a fight that he remained grinning like an idiot. He sighed and snatched the binocular from his hands. "Grey, are you even listening?"

"I was listening!" Charles Grey snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. The wind picked up, blowing his silver-white hair about his shoulders. "How should we do it this time?"

"See? You weren't listening at all."

"Wha−? I was!"

"We enter through the front door," Phipps repeated. "Like gentlemen−unless we want the butler and the young lady thinking we are among the enemies. We cannot risk another fight, like every other times we have been here."

Grey smirked, stroking his chin. "You see, I was thinking−"

"That's bad for your health, Charles."

"Listen for a moment, would you?!"

Phipps stared at his partner and saw the quiver of his lips as Grey frowned. "I know what you're thinking already. You want to engage the young lady into a fight. And here's what I am thinking: no."

Grey whined. "Just a little bit?"

"No means no. Now let's go, or I would leave you here behind." Phipps jumped to the coachman's seat and looked around the dense forest. The wind howled, the skies blotting out the sun, turning the forest darker and quieter. Hands tight around the leather reins, he observed every movement of the trees. His attention perked, like a cat perking at every suspicious movement, with his grey eyes narrowing ominously.

"W-What is it, Charles?" Grey stammered, afraid to look over his shoulder in fear of seeing something he did not want to see. Shaky hands strayed to where his sword was.

Phipps shot his partner a cold, nonchalant look. "I think I saw a _ghost_ ," he said and quickly snapped at the reins, dashing across the forest.

Grey shrieked girlishly and ran after the carriage. "W-W-Wait, C-Charles! Don't _leave_ me here~!"

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Guess who's back! Here I return after a six-month writer's block. It feels really awesome to be out of that block and be active once more in this wonderful site! But of course I have to write something for the Kuroshitsuji fandom to celebrate, so I decided to write another Charles Grey story because—I'll be honest here—I adore this silver-haired bastard more than any other character. As much as I love seeing Grey and Phipps appear in the manga, they don't show often enough.

As someone might have noticed, I have another Grey/OC story that is in hiatus: _To Live a Marionette Life_. Sadly, the hard drive that contained all finished chapters for that story was corrupted. I was unable to recover all the finished chapters for _all_ my stories. With that said, all my previous unfinished stories prior to this one might be discontinued (until I get out of my depression corner and _rewrite everything_ ).

For now, I do hope you enjoy this product of mine. I certainly enjoyed writing this, so I hope you enjoy it as well. Cheers to everyone who reads this first chapter and please do tell me what you think! I would love to know everyone's opinions.

P.S. Also, 2CT is real. Shall we (2CT supporters) party now? XD

P.P.S. Thank you again for reading!


	2. Delivering

**Chapter 02**

 _ **Delivering**_

* * *

The servants of the Phantomhive Manor gathered round at the sight of their young master's hunt. Everyone seemed to be in awe, eyes sparkling and mouths gaping, as the steward and former head butler Tanaka escorted Ciel and Elizabeth to the dining hall while waiting for Sebastian and Miss Stanmore to arrive. A few minutes later, the pair entered through the main entrance, and was greeted enthusiastically by the servants.

"Welcome back, Mister Sebastian, Miss Stanmore!" Finnian threw up his hands and waved them in the air. His strawberry-blond hair bounced along with his straw hat.

"Finny," Sebastian called, "are you not supposed to be tending the gardens?"

"Yes, but I wanna ask Miss Stanmore if she can teach me how to hunt, too!" The young gardener imitated looking through a scope and aiming at an invisible prey. Then he turned back to their guest and chirped again. "Can you teach me how to do that properly, Miss Stanmore?"

"Of course," Cara answered, laughing. She rounded towards the housemaid. "But if it comes to shooting, I am sure Miss Maid here knows much better than me."

"A-Absolutely not!" Mey-Rin flailed her hands in front of her face, while blushing. She tried to fix her large, overly round glasses but tripped from her shoelaces and fell to the polished floor with a yelp.

Sebastian sighed and fought the urge to slap his forehead. Yet when he turned back to the guest, to invite her towards the dining hall, he found her laughing along Finnian as the gardener helped the maid back to her unsteady feet. _Really… These humans…_

"I should like to learn from Miss Stanmore," Bard declared, grinning proudly. The chef flexed his muscles and Finnian copied his poses from behind. "Such pretty young lady must be in need of a strapping young gentleman−"

"Yes, thank you, Bard." Sebastian grabbed the chef's ear and dragged him away from the guest, who was still trying to contain her laughter. Again, he sighed and clutched his starting-to-ache head.

Cara put her gloved hand into her mouth to refrain herself from laughing further. It was obvious to her that the butler was losing patience with the casual chattering, but she did not mind the servants talking to her whenever they could. As she watched Sebastian dragging the three servants back to the kitchen, she noticed the last Phantomhive servant and met his golden eyes.

At once, Snake looked away and pretended to look innocent. It only made Cara smile even more and approach the shy servant.

"Would you like to learn as well, Mister Footman?" she asked, peeping up at his face and smiling.

Snake glanced at her once, then looked elsewhere, and then glanced once more. The yellow-and-orange snake around his neck hissed at her. "Goethe wants to know if Miss Stanmore also hunts snakes," he whispered.

"Only bad snakes," she answered at once, as if it was the easiest question in the world. She jabbed her index finger at Goethe's direction and it responded with a series of hissings, and what appeared to be a nod. "Bad snakes who make troubles for people are ones I hunt. So be a good snake, okay, Goethe?"

"It's a promise, says Goethe," Snake said.

"Miss Stanmore." Sebastian returned with his brows furrowed. "We should really join the young master and Lady Elizabeth in the dining hall. I have the desserts and drinks prepared. Please do follow me inside."

"Goodbye, Miss Stanmore, says Goethe." Snake checked at the creature around his neck; it was waving its pointed tail. Mimicking his friend, Snake held up his hand and waved farewell.

Cara laughed and waved back, before catching up to Sebastian.

Once in the dining hall, Ciel and Elizabeth had both switched their hunting outfits to clothes that were more comfortable. The young earl was seated at the head of the table, sipping his Earl Grey tea, while Elizabeth was having a hard time picking from the several cupcakes presented to her. Cara sat on Ciel's right hand and had her fair share of the strawberry and cream cake that Sebastian had promised earlier.

As prim and proper as she could, Cara tried to slice a portion of the cake and took immense care not to let it fall on her pants. It was a success, as she hummed at the yummy sweetness of the cake. Not bad after a long day of hunting and cleaning up.

"Ciel, what do you say about going on a boat ride?" Lizzie asked from his left side.

"I think I'll pass for now, Lizzie," the earl answered in a bored voice. His eye, pristine blue as the clear skies above, was focused on the newspaper article in his hands.

Cara saw the dejected look on the young girl's face and tried to distract her. "Lady Elizabeth, this is the first time you joined us for a hunt. Have you suddenly gotten interested in it?"

"Not exactly, Miss Stanmore." Lizzie giggled. "But Mother likes hunting around our estate; and Brother as well. If Ciel also likes hunting, I thought I should give it a try myself!"

"How very thoughtful," Cara agreed. She finished the portion of her cake and sipped her tea. Before she knew it, Sebastian was serving another batch of dessert−petit fours of different flavors. The butler was not even two feet away when her stomach grumbled again; and she did not miss the little smile curling on Sebastian's lips as he offered Elizabeth the same dessert.

Sebastian watched them in silence, then peered down the glass window.

"What is it?" Ciel asked, his lips pressed against the rim of his cup.

"It seems we have unexpected guests, my lord." Sebastian bowed a little. "I shall return shortly and−"

There was a large thud from the first floor and the servants shouting in protest. Everyone in the room perked up, Lizzie looking scared and Ciel flinching from his seat. Cara remained on her chair, her eyes darted to the door, and she ready to pounce.

Yet Sebastian was only smiling as he approached the door. His hand tightened around the knob while he indicated everyone to be silent. He heard footsteps, quick and lithe against the velvet carpet, approaching the room. He timed the stranger's movements. Just as the stranger was dashing towards the door, Sebastian grinned and opened it.

The stranger dove forwards with his left hand extended, a sword in place. The unexpected opening of the door caught him off-guard, leaving him suspended in the air; and in the realization that he would hit the floor with his face, he kicked the ground with one leg and cartwheeled, turning his body around to catch a glimpse of the people at the table. There was only Earl Phantomhive and young Lady Midford, and no signs of the hunting teacher.

Charles Grey did not miss the lightning-fast movement as someone appeared behind him, raised her left leg to hit him in the face. His right hand shot out, grabbing his assailant's leg and using it as leverage to make another cartwheel, before sliding back to the floor, feet landing deftly.

Cara was stunned. She never would have guessed he could dodge that attack while in midair. She faced him, bending her knees with one hand in front of her face, undeniably ready to fight.

"Play with me, why don't you?" Grey charged first, swinging his blade to catch her arm.

With her eyes on the blade, she sidestepped his attack. Her right hand went to his left wrist, misdirecting his sword's course; while her left went under his elbow, pushing upwards so she could throw Grey's balance off. It worked, but only for a while. He twisted towards her with a roundhouse kick, aiming for her face, and she blocked his attack by putting her left arm up.

Grinning, Grey adjusted his leg and kicked her stomach. He snatched his left wrist from her grip and swept his blade left to right, forcing her backwards.

But Ciel was standing at the head of the table, ordering for both of them to stop. "Earl Grey, if you would please! The lady means no harm more than you already started!"

Then it was Sebastian coming in between them, looking down at Grey with his dark blood-red eyes. "No further, Earl Grey. She is the young master's hunting teacher. Please do no further damage."

"Of course." Charles Grey withdrew begrudgingly. His partner appeared by the doorway with a letter on hand. He spared a sideways glance at the woman, torn between adrenaline rush and confusion. He had to admit it: seeing her flushed like that was such a welcoming sight.

"We have come to deliver an important letter from Her Majesty," Phipps announced in his usual calm voice. He bowed to the thirteen-year-old earl and his fiancée. "Forgive us for the intrusion, but could you spare a few moments in private with us?"

"I understand." Ciel rose from his chair and asked Lizzie to stay here. "Let me take you to my study where we could talk. And young miss−" he shot Cara a look that was neither caring nor apologetic−"please do excuse what happened. I want you to meet the Double Charles."

Cara cocked her head to the side, her jet-black locks framing her youthful face.

"We are Her Majesty the Queen's Private Secretarial Officers and butlers. I am Charles Grey."

"And I am Charles Phipps. Together we are codenamed Double Charles. It is a pleasure to meet you."

She observed one Charles from another: one was taller, carrying a calm, thoughtful demeanor; while the other one, her previous opponent, carried an air of absolute confidence and a degree of narcissism that she did not admire. Her stomach still hurt from his kick. But she was more concerned by the fact that she attacked an officer under the Queen's command.

"Pleased to make your acquaintances, my lords." She bowed, her locks now falling across her eyes. When she straightened herself, she found the shorter Charles grinning at her. "My name is Carmilla Payne, Earl Phantomhive's hunting and marksmanship teacher."

Ciel blinked at the blatant lie, but said nothing. Instead, he said, "I would be seeing you next week then, Miss Payne. Thank you very much for today. Sebastian would see you off."

Sebastian beamed at her, smiling like an excited child, and gestured with his hand. "This way please, Miss Payne. Your carriage has just arrived."

"Tch." Grey put his hands behind his head and watched over his shoulder as the young woman left the room. The fight could have lasted longer if it were not the meddling butler who was supposed to be dead anyway.

Outside the mansion, Sebastian helped the guest climb into the carriage. Then he presented her a large box with a dark blue ribbon around it. "The young master's hunt for today, pheasants roasted with a side of mashed potatoes. I do hope you enjoy it at home, Miss Payne," he said with a wink.

Cara laughed at that. "I did not want to get in trouble for attacking the Queen's officers. Are they really her butlers though?"

"Butlers through and through," he assured her. "You're treading the cautious road, Miss Stanmore?"

"More like the scared road," she teased. "I never want to engage that one in another fight."

"Well, I think I should always be around to help a damsel-in-distress. That is, if Miss Stanmore actually needs my help, of course."

Her smile vanished as she blinked. "What is that supposed to mean, Mister Butler?"

He chuckled. "I was just teasing, Miss Stanmore. Have a safe journey. I would see you next week."

* * *

From his position by the window, Charles Grey could see the retreating image of the carriage. There was the black-haired butler standing by as if waiting for the carriage to leave his sight. He sighed then, pressing his cheek against the coldness of the window, and pouted. So much for a long-awaited fight−only to be stopped by that butler and his conniving little brat for a master.

"That's why, Earl Phantomhive, Her Majesty wants you to see into the matter as soon as possible," Phipps was explaining, seated before the earl's great mahogany desk. "It is a mission of absolute secrecy."

"You say this was an assignment left unfinished by my predecessor?" Ciel eyed the envelope and pondered whether to read it before the two Charles or not. "Could such a thing even be possible?"

Grey decided to join them and sat across his partner. "Unfinished businesses are always our job, Earl Phantomhive−cleaning up messes, hunting down those who offend Her Majesty. Only this time, you are cleaning up the mess your predecessor, the previous Watchdog, failed to accomplish."

"If it was truly unfinished, I could not imagine Her Majesty tolerating such disobedience," Ciel said, his voice dropping into a whisper, "especially since it has something to do with the… Montroses…" Even mentioning the name left a bad taste in his mouth, as if there was bile rising in his throat that he needed to vomit.

"It is really not guaranteed to be the Montroses," Phipps interposed. "Her Majesty suggests you should see it for yourself. She needs eyes and ears in France. Something no doubt you could provide."

"Of course," Ciel said. He leaned back against his chair and sighed. "Tell Her Majesty I shall dispose of these troublemakers at once. She need not worry about it anymore. Are there anything else?"

Grey raised his hand.

"No need to raise your hand, Earl Grey." Ciel sighed again. "What is it?"

"Your hunting teacher, Miss Payne, was it? When would she come back next?"

"Well, our usual schedule is Friday each week. If you come here a little earlier next Friday, you might be able to catch up with her."

"Sounds good to me," Grey chirped and turned to his partner. "Shall we go?"

"Indeed." Phipps stood up and nodded to the earl. "It was good to see you today, Earl Phantomhive. Thank you for accommodating us−" He glared at his partner−"and forgive us for the trouble a while ago."

Ciel shrugged his shoulders. "I am sure Miss Payne did not mind at all."

Sebastian opened the door just as the Double Charles was heading out. He held the door open as they passed, while meeting the frown curled on Grey's lips with a cheerful smile of his own. Since the Double Charles did not ask for assistance, Sebastian did not have to see them off outside. Instead, he delivered a pheasant pie and handed it to his master.

"Troubles, my lord?"

"Seems like it."

"Oh? You sound upset. Did Earl Grey try to bully you again?"

"No, of course not! He should know better than actually picking a fight with me." The grumpy young master scoffed. "That's why he keeps play-fighting the rest of you, because he knows he could not touch me."

Sebastian snickered and looked at the envelope. "What is it this time, then?"

Ciel frowned deeper and sank lower into his chair. "The… Montroses…"

"The what?"

" _Les roses_ ," Ciel growled irritably. "A family with a large dukedom in the Scottish Borders. They are the wealthiest, most sophisticated family in the North. They threw parties as much as every family in the whole country, though their lavish lifestyle is backed by their profession by nightfall."

The butler seemed interested. "Is it so?"

"With permission from the Queen they watched over the Borders, especially the boundary between Scotland and England. Stories have it that the Montrose family built their mansion on top of a hill, so they could see everyone and everything. They apprehended drug dealers trying to sneak drugs from Scotland to England, and vice versa. They thwarted every single weapons dealer docking by the ports. They assassinated evil politicians. Everything was under their watch: human trafficking, illegal weapons, drug dealing, even prostitution. Powerful as they sound like, the Montrose was still under the Phantomhive. We bear the name of the Queen's Watchdog; the Montrose was simply another pawn on the board game."

"So what happened?"

"People rumored that Duke Montrose rebelled−an understatement. It was the whole family: grandfather, father and mother, up to their four sons. Instead of watching over the Borders as they used to, they made an alliance with the very drug dealers and weapons smugglers they were tasked to eliminate. In due time, the Roses commanded a large hoard of drugs and weapons of all kinds."

"I take it Her Majesty was not best pleased?" Sebastian mused.

"She was _furious_ and sent my predecessor to eradicate them all." Ciel still shuddered at the very memory of it. He was not there, but he remembered the dark look crossing his father's face when he learned of the mission. "My predecessor travelled to the Borders to do his duty. It might have been a hard task to begin with. When he returned, he complained that the mission was not worth the danger he put his life into. It was the first and last time I heard him complain; and it was the best compliment someone could get from the Queen's Watchdog."

"What does this have to do anything with the Double Charles?"

"Everything." Ciel scratched his head and exhaled deeply. "Some idiot from France claims to be a Montrose son−safe and sound and unfortunately alive. He has been gathering supporters somewhere in Calais, some old friends of his predecessors."

"Do you think there's some truth into it?"

"Not one bit, yet I still have to go. To please Her Majesty."

"Such a good dog you are, Young Master."

"Shut up." Ciel glared up at him. "Prepare for departure at once. We leave for Calais tomorrow. And send word to Miss Stanmore: I would not be seeing her next Friday."

"Are you sure about that?" Sebastian's eyebrow rose. "I thought Earl Grey wanted to meet her here next Friday?"

Ciel slapped his forehead. "Oh, right. Why should I do something that pleases him anyway? Tell Cara she does not need to come next week. Let Earl Grey be disappointed for once."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** And here I return for another chapter! Yay! Thank so very much for the supports I got for this new story of mine. It really does feel good to be actively contributing to the Kuroshitsuji fandom again. Oh, these days feel so good. I hoped you guys enjoyed the chapter. Here we get to learnt he nature of Ciel's new assignment from the Queen. Stay tuned for more!

*Guest - Thank for very much for leaving a review (even though it's not your habit, LOL). And thank you for also reading my previous stories! _Vault of Bones_ was an experimental story and I am glad to read comments about it. My only regret is that _To Live a Marionette Life_ would have to be postponed for quite some time, since all the finished chapters were lost. (T_T) As a compensation, I'll try to make this story as interesting as I can!

*Chanyeol - Yay, thank you for reading!

*Mini Wolf - Thank you! I do intend to keep going! :)

Once again, thank you all for reading. Reviews and suggestions are greatly appreciated. Have a wonderful day!


	3. Mourning

**Chapter 03**

 _ **Mourning**_

* * *

The ride back home was quiet and uneventful.

Cara had her eyes glued to the window, cradling the warm box in her hands. She was tired and in dire need of a good bath and sleep, though she had to thank the Phantomhives for the delicious afternoon snacks and the dinner in her hands. Feeling her eyelids become heavier with each passing minute, her mind wandered back to the unexpected fight with the Earl Grey. It was a mistake on her part. She never should have acted on instinct to protect Ciel and Elizabeth; Sebastian was there to defend his master, and Elizabeth… Well, Cara could tell Lizzie would be fine by herself, being a Midford and all.

But _still_.

She groaned and tried to calm her raging thoughts. Engaging such a high-ranking nobleman was a no-no. Had the fight continued and she somehow injured him, then she was good as dead. A commoner like her stood no chance against the absolute power of the nobles.

Familiar streets came into view. She craned her neck to see the shops and boutiques that comprised her neighborhood. There was Miss Herbert's bakery and Mister Lockwood's shoe shop; on the other side was Mister Klein's bookstore.

The carriage halted in front of a three-story townhouse. It had pointed dark blue roofs and a narrow belvedere, almost like a small balcony, to offer a scenic view of the street below. The structure had paneled windows, a thin white door with a brass lion knocker, and two lamps on either side of the door. Compared to the houses next to it, the townhouse looked more like kitchen drab.

She thanked the coachman and paid her fee, and watched the carriage disappear on the corner. The wind picked up, making her shiver.

A light from her left side caught her attention. There, hunched by the window, was her neighbor and close friend. If he was not treating a patient, he was always there on his desk, writing.

Cara looked down at the box in her hands and decided to knock on his door.

In a flash, Arthur was upon her, looking perplexed. "Miss Stanmore! What a surprise! Can I help you with anything?"

She smiled at his sincerity. There were few people in London like him. "Good evening, Mister Wordsmith. Was I interrupting something? Or were you continuing your work before I interrupted?"

"Oh, not at all!" He waved his hands in front of him, chuckling nervously. "Y-You see… I could barely gather my wits about me, so I should thank you for the interruption. The editor wants some good romance novels or historical ones… I am hardly able to come up with a good romance concept…"

"Romance, is it?" She laughed a little. "Why settle on romance when you have such an engaging story with an equally engaging pair of characters?"

"You think so?" Arthur peeped at her and scratched the back of his head.

"You know what I think? I think you should write whatever you want. Do not let the editors hinder your imagination, Mister Wordsmith. Write whatever you desire, and the rest would fall into place."

"That sounds comforting," he said with a smile. "I think I might continue with the mystery genre. I have quite a good concept I am trying to assemble here. Earl Phantomhive gave me the idea."

Cara perked up. "Speaking of the earl, I want to share this with you," she said, offering the large box that Sebastian gave her earlier. "It is the pheasant he hunted down this afternoon. I live alone in the house so this is too much for me. Mister Butler really gives me too much every time." She sighed.

"B-But it's yours!" He blanched. "I certainly could not take what was given to you…"

"Still, I could not finish this on my own. Indulge me, would you, Mister Wordsmith? We could take half and we are both full for dinner." She began untying the blue sink ribbon and dropped the first heavy box in Arthur's shaking hands. "There, roasted pheasant with a side of mashed potatoes for dinner. Thank you for indulging me, Mister Wordsmith."

Arthur nodded fervently. "Yes, yes, thank you very much, Miss Stanmore!"

She laughed and walked back to her house. "Well, see you around…"

Cara entered the living room. It was spacious and neat, with little furniture. A fireplace dominated the right wall, while a set of couch and coffee table was on the other side. Two glass windows overlooked the streets outside, framed with old dark blue draperies with silver ropes. She was a fan of music, yet the only musical instrument she had in her possession was a third-hand upright piano made from mahogany. She won it after countless nights of performing for a travelling circus several years ago. Even up to now, it was her greatest and most prized possession.

She placed the box in the small kitchen, took the stairs, and went to her room−a small and compact place that consisted a single bed with two pillows and an old blanket. Her closet was old and dusty, one that she bought from an upstart moneylender who had been her friend when she was serving pastries in a bakery downtown. The vanity next to the closet was in a poorer condition; it belonged to one of the highborn ladies she used to work for, but the front leg of the vanity broke and she had asked for Arthur's help to fix it for her.

With an exhausted sigh, she removed her hunting clothes and switched to a more comfortable handmade dress of white blouse and green skirts. She tugged at her ponytail and let the thick hair tumble down her shoulders like a wave of black ink. She checked herself in the mirror, but did not linger there. It was no use trying to remember. Some ten years later, there was no need to return to the past.

 _I ache all over_. Cara collapsed on the bed, the springs creaking under her weight. Her eyelids fluttered open and close, the cold wind entering through the window by her bed, the curtains billowing with it. Then, after listening to the calm howling of the wind, she fell asleep.

Her dream started to where it always started−a raging blizzard. She was around ten years old, deep waist into the snow, small hands trying to warm her arms. The strong winds had undone the elaborate bun in her hair; her dress served no shield for the weather. Lost, hungry, and tired as she was, she had been more frightened to cry, for fear that her tears would be frozen against her flushed cheeks. From a fair distance, she heard the wolves howl; and her fear rose tenfold. She had no means to defend herself from an onslaught of a wolf pack. She might as well die then and there, but for some reason, she was alive.

Fate had played a cruel game with her that night.

There was no memory of what happened prior to the blizzard, but she did remember what happened next. She found her way to London, sneaking in as a stowaway in carts and trains. It crossed her mind to steal some apples and bread, but she was never a good pickpocket and never the strong runner. East End was a better place than being under the snow−that was a certainty.

Plunged in deep reverie, Cara still heard steps downstairs. She sat up from the bed, eyes narrowed at the door. It had gotten darker outside, and so did the inside of the house. It was pitch-black in the living room when she made her descent. The window beside the piano was open, letting the curtains sway along with the breeze.

She sighed and closed the window. Then, under the silver glimmer of moonlight, she saw a white envelope with blue seal.

Earl Phantomhive surely had his strange ways to send messages.

* * *

It was Saturday next morning, and she had nothing to do.

Her hunting lessons ranged from Monday to Friday. She had students throughout London, with Earl Phantomhive being the farthest one. Thus, the thirteen-year-old earl was considerate enough to hire a permanent coachman to escort her every time she needed to go around town.

Cara decided to help with the nearby bookstore keeper, old Mister Klein. She was in her casual dress when she entered the store, with a small hardbound book tucked under her arm. The place was not crowded, with only three customers taking turns around the shelves, like vultures circling a dying prey. She found the owner at his desk, immersed with his newspaper.

"Good morning, Mister Klein," she greeted.

"Ah, lovely morning to you, Miss Stanmore." Harold Klein was an elderly man with brown hair streaked with white at the temples; his eyes were dark green and very bright. He was tall with broad shoulders and long, strong fingers that were trained to handle rifles but were now flipping pages with care. "Glad to see you looking so radiant as usual. Good hunt yesterday?"

"The most engaging hunt so far," she said, leaning her arms on his desk. "Earl Phantomhive has taken down quite a lot of game and finished his target shooting practice within a few seconds."

"Sounds like a bright boy." He regarded her through his spectacles. "Have you had the chance to read the book you borrowed? Being so busy and all?"

"I found spare time here and then." She presented the small book entitled _Carmilla_ and slid it towards him. "I do found it quite interesting and a bit frightening. It made me feel the need to watch over myself while I sleep at night!"

Harold chuckled like an overly fond grandfather. "A well-read mind is as good as a well-trained hand," he said, thinking back to his time as a soldier. "You have lived alone for so long it must be quite dreadful after reading _Carmilla_. Children would refuse to sleep alone if their parents read this to them at night."

"But I wished it could have been longer," she murmured with a sigh. She propped her chin under her palm and peered at his newspaper. The headlines printed in large, bold letters caught her attention.

"More trouble in town." He showed her the article and puffed at his cigarette. One of the customers approached and bought _The Heart of Darkness_ by Joseph Conrad. Once the customer was gone, he watched the growing anxiety on the young woman's face and summarized the news. "It appears one of a highborn's sons was involved in a train accident recently."

Cara's eyes scoured through the pages in search of a name. She found none. "Any ideas who was hurt?"

"The boy is dead," he stated, as another customer came up to him. "Ran over by a cargo train in the dead of the night. The locals found his body the day after."

"You're not talking about the recent death, are you?" asked the customer, an auburn-haired man with fierce green eyes and thick beard. "Tough shit for the Grosvenors; their youngest boy died in that train accident. Everyone's blaming the driver, but I blame the parents. That's bad parenting at its finest!" Then he sniggered.

"Grosvenor?" Cara stared at him with wide eyes. The newspaper went forgotten in her hands. "The youngest son? You don't mean−?"

"What? D'you know them highborn people?" the customer mocked, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"Here's your book, sir," interrupted Harold, as his calloused hand patted Cara's tensed shoulder. He saw the golden letterings on the thick, hardbound book. _The Legend of Montrose_ by Sir Walter Scott.

The customer left with a huff.

"Calm down, Miss Stanmore." The retired soldier went to the kitchen behind his store and poured her a cup of tea. He hoped the tea soothed her nerves at least. "I did not tell you it was the Grosvenor son, for it is not something I would tell a friend so early in the morning."

She sipped her tea and looked up at the shop owner. "If it was the youngest Grosvenor son, then it must be Robert…" A tear escaped her closed eyelids and fell into the cup. "He is one of my students."

"I know," Harold tried to console her. "It was a terrible accident."

"I should go." She abruptly placed the teacup on the desk and bowed to the old man. "Thank you very much for today, Mister Klein. I should go over to the Grosvenor House to pay my condolences to the family."

Then she was out of the store before the soldier could even nod.

* * *

The skies gradually turned darker as the late afternoon approached. Cara only hoped the weather would hold until she was in the Grosvenor House.

Much to her relief, she found a black mourning dress in her closet. It was the same dress she wore when her adoptive father−Wilhelm Stanmore−died about five years ago. The dress hugged her body so tightly it was hard for her to breathe, but it was better than not wearing a black dress for a funeral. It was one of the expensive dresses her father had bought for her before he passed away, a gown made from fine silk embellished with lace, with frilly sleeves and an opal brooch at her throat. However, she must take special care not to let everyone see the rips and handmade stitches under the skirts and around the chest where she had remade the dress when she had already outgrown it years ago.

The entrance was a long colonnade with Gothic columns and two large iron gates on either end. Uniformed guards standing by the gates reminded Cara of the guards in Buckingham Palace, although these guards were less grand in terms of uniform and badges. One of them marched forward as she approached the gate. She was already known here for her frequent visits, thus the head guard saluted to her and opened the western gate.

There were several carriages in the courtyard. Some of the newly arrived nobles glanced at her, before proceeding to the main foyer. A footman approached, ready to escort her, but she knew her way around these corridors.

"Where does the funeral take place?" she asked the footman instead.

"In the ballroom, Miss Stanmore."

"Thank you." She touched his arm as form of thanks and went on.

Cara was taken aback by the sheer number of people in the ballroom. It was heavily packed, prompting her to squeeze and shoulder her way through the thick crowd.

The servants drew the curtains back to show the overcast skies outside, already looking heavy with rain and thunder. Nobles and acquaintances came and went, expressing condolences, approaching the grieving father and mother who were standing beside a grand white casket with golden edges.

"Lord Grosvenor," Cara said under her breath. She sank into a deep, respectful curtsey. In her peripheral vision, the lord and his wife turned around. "I am very sorry for your loss. I was shocked upon hearing the news."

"Oh, Miss Stanmore," Lord Hugh Grosvenor choked back a sob, and his wife patted his back in comfort. The once handsome duke with dark hair and cheerful smile looked like he aged ten years older after the death of his son. "What a relief you have come."

"Forgive us for the delay of sending a letter," Lady Katherine added. Like her husband, her infamous charm and allure was gone. Dark rims outlined her eyes, her face paler and almost lifeless. "Everything happened so quickly, it's just−"

Cara nodded in understanding. "I would always be here whenever you need me, Lady Grosvenor."

A butler bowed to the duke and whispered something in his ear.

"Ah, Duke Clemens has arrived," said the grieving father. He took his wife's hand and turned to Cara. He gave her a weary smile. "Please do excuse us for a moment, Miss Stanmore."

"Please take all the time you need. Do not worry about me." She made another curtsey, as the couple went off.

Without further adieu, she stepped closer to the casket and glanced down. It pained her to see ten-year-old Robert Grosvenor resting against a purple velvet cushion, surrounded by white lilies, his charming face now pale. It only seemed like yesterday when this boy had smiled so cheerfully at her when he shot his very first fox. He had danced all over the forest clearing, embraced her around the waist, and promised to hunt down a moose next so his teacher would be proud of him. And Cara had always reassured that she was proud to teach him.

"Is this fate or merely a coincidence?" Someone purred in her ear.

She spun around and almost hit her face against the stranger's chin. She took a step back, observing his appearance−that silver-white hair with shaggy bangs, playful grey eyes outlined by long lashes, a very cheeky smirk. "Y-You're−"

"How now, Miss Carmilla Payne?" Charles Grey grinned and fixed her an amused gaze. "It seems we are meant to meet each other much earlier than I expected. I was aiming for next Friday, but oh well! We cannot be choosers, can we?"

"Wait, what are you doing here?" But his reason was far from her concern. She did not anticipate seeing this one again, and so soon! As she told herself a dozen times yesterday, she was a commoner who had no chances on meeting the Queen's butlers again. She stood quite frozen on the spot, racking her brain whether to lie further or drop to her knees and ask for forgiveness.

"Hm? Oh, you're Earl Phantomhive's hunting teacher from yesterday." Phipps arrived behind his partner, looking thoughtful. A white chicken was perched comfortably on his right shoulder. He raised his hand by way of greeting. "Good to see you again, Miss Payne."

The chicken mesmerized Cara. She brought her index finger towards it, and the chicken tapped her beak against her finger. She laughed at that.

"Her name is Cecily," Phipps introduced. He pulled out a small pouch from his pocket, and fed a morsel to the chicken. "Grey wanted to call her 'Éclair'."

"Because it sounds much _better_ than 'Cecily'." Grey snorted.

"Grey, nobody calls their pet after a dessert."

Cara laughed again, finding their argument quite amusing.

Phipps sighed and turned his eyes to the young woman. "So, what brings you here in the Grosvenor House, Miss Payne? Are you acquainted with the Duke of Westminster and his family?"

"Well, I suppose 'acquainted' does sound like a fitting word," she answered with a nervous laugh. "I am also teaching hunting and marksmanship lessons to the two youngest sons, William and Robert."

"Oohh? Is that so?" Grey singsonged, as a knowing smirk curled on his lips. "Quite famous among the nobles for someone of your standing."

"Not at all, Mister Officer." She tried to laugh again, but it was futile. Her tight dress made it harder to breathe, now that the two men were here. She felt cornered by the Queen's butlers, and she found no way out. "Though I am still thankful for my job. It keeps food on the table and the snow off my head."

Phipps blinked. "What a strange way to put it."

Grey rolled his eyes and smirked at her. "So, care for another round? I was enjoying that play before the butler interrupted. Show me more of your skills that are good enough to pass for Earl Phantomhive's teacher."

"Forgive me, Officer, but I couldn't."

"What? Why not?"

"I am a teacher," Cara explained. "I do not partake in such trivial games. I do not indulge myself in something that might cause an early retirement for me. Especially if I fight you, a high-ranking noble. It would be me inside a jail if I so much hurt you."

"That's absurd," Grey scoffed. _So she doesn't want to fight me because I am a noble and she's a commoner. Social classes now start to annoy me._ He shot her a glare and frowned. "No need to go easy on me. I am a trained and experienced fighter. I am not a fragile doll, unless you are, of course."

"I am not either," she answered sweetly, "though I would really feel bad if Her Majesty's Secretarial Officer should be hurt in any way."

Phipps placed a hard hand on his partner's shoulder. Cecily clucked in agreement. "That's enough, Grey. You cannot force someone into doing something for your entertainment. Do not be selfish. If the lady says no, then take it as your cue to take a step back."

 _Someone who finally understands. Thank you, Mister Officer_. Cara sighed.

"B-But, Phipps!" Grey pouted.

"That's quite enough from you," Phipps scolded. "Forgive my partner, Miss Payne. He could be so childish and stubborn at times." He paused, tapping his chin. "Well, _most_ of the time."

Grey curled his fist. "Hey! I can hear you!"

Cara had to smile at that. "I do not mind at all, Mister Officer."

Suddenly, another guest approached them. He was quite tall, almost standing shoulder to shoulder with Charles Phipps. He had wavy brown hair and offered them a soft smile; and like the rest of the guests, he wore black all over to signify his mourning. His eyes, gray-green under the golden light of the chandeliers above, stared intently down at Cara.

"I am glad you're here," the newcomer said. He was too occupied with her that he did not notice the two officers watching him. "I would have fetched you myself, so I could see you sooner."

Charles Grey scowled at this newcomer's audacity to interrupt them. He scowled even more to hear his exaggeratedly sweet voice and see his charming smile. But when he turned back to the young woman, he was surprised to see her eyes so wide and her face turning a deep shade of red. He found out that he did not like the way she looked; he liked her more when she looked focused and intent on defeating him.

"Lord Victor," Cara murmured, her black skirts sweeping the floor as she curtseyed. She lowered her head, so that the nobleman could not see her blushing face. "I am sorry for your loss."

"My father wishes to speak with you," Victor said, offering an arm. Still, he had not noticed the two Charles around him. "He has an important matter to discuss with you, Miss Stanmore."

All thoughts of giving this fool a piece of his mind were gone from Grey's mind. He stood there, dumbfounded as his partner, upon hearing a different name, with the woman answering to that name. It all became clear to him now. She had lied yesterday. Lied through her teeth and straight to his face. And he believed it! He actually believed that she was Carmilla Payne when she was a Stanmore. The nerve of this commoner!

Before Grey could complain, the pair was already walking away from them, latched together like leeches. His face darkened further: from the lie or the sight of them together or her refusal of his invitation, he could not tell. But he knew he was angry; he knew that he had to do whatever it took to make her regret making him feel angry.

Phipps hummed, sounding more amused than actually puzzled over her lie. "She got us there, huh?"

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : I am so glad I finally get to write a Double Charles story with Cecily in it. Although the name is not canon, many fans already refer to her as Cecily, so why not me as well? I really adore Phipps and his soft side to anything cute—which makes him cuter! Damn it, Yana-sensei! We need more Double Charles!

Thank you for reading everyone! Have a wonderful day!

* **Emperor DeLacus** \- Holy Guacamole! I am so ecstatic to hear from you again! I missed you so much! And yes, it was quite sad what happened to my drafts. I would so like to update my stories, especially the one with Eryn. (T_T) I miss writing about that eccentric elf with her two h̶o̶t̶ suitors. But I am still in the depressed corner because of my loss, so I won't be able to update that one soon.

SNAKE! Yes! I love writing Snake so much that I am actually surprised I haven't started a story about him yet. Hopefully, I would (in the near future). And thank you for leaving a review! :)

* **Chanyeol** \- Snake's shyness cures my depression, cleared my skin, and raised my grades. We need more Snake!

* **CROWPRINCESS** \- Cara's past would be tackled, so don't worry ;) I love Charles Grey so much, too! I wish we could have more of the Queen's butler trio in the manga. Thank you for the review!


	4. Confiding

**Chapter 04**

 _ **Confiding**_

* * *

"You look beautiful, Miss Stanmore. New dress?"

"Oh, no." Cara blushed deeper and tugged at the fabric. Already self-conscious, she did not want to tell him that this was the oldest dress in her closet. "Father gave it to me shortly before he passed away. I still cherish it up to now."

"Well, I still think you look rather lovely," Victor Grosvenor insisted. He smiled down at her and regarded her with his grey-green eyes. His black mourning suit shimmered under the light of the chandeliers. Unlike his parents, he was not as pale and distressed; in fact, the young nobleman retained his handsome, charming disposition.

"Thank you," she murmured.

There was brief silence between them, before Victor spoke again.

"My father would tell you something that I hope you would not encourage." He stopped in his tracks and turned to her. He stared at her, quite serious. "Please, whatever my father tells you, do not encourage him."

"What do you mean?"

"You would see soon enough." He took her hand and settled it in the crook of his elbow, smiled again, and resumed walking. The room was in the farthest hallway from the ballroom, still crowded with guests.

Upon reaching the parlor, Victor opened the door and saw his parents stand up from the couch. His mother's eyes and cheeks were red from crying, while his father was as pale as a ghost. He set his jaw and forced another charming smile, in hopes of cheering his parents. "I have brought Miss Stanmore as requested," he announced.

"You may go," Lord Grosvenor said at once. He gestured with his hand that they should leave them in private. "Thank you, Victor. Take your mother and go."

"Of course." Victor planted a soft kiss on Cara's hand, seeing her cheeks burn with embarrassment even more. Then he offered his hand to Lady Katherine, kissed his mother lovingly on the forehead, and escorted her outside.

Cara watched as the mother and son turned to leave. She was puzzled in every sense of the word; Lord Victor had never done such a thing before, and before his parents even. Her hand still tingled from the sensation of his kiss, his lips against her knuckles. She shook her head and forced all thoughts of him away from her mind. She was a commoner, essentially a nobody. And he was the son of a duke, the future Duke of Westminster.

"Would you like some tea, Miss Stanmore?" asked the weary duke from the couch.

She flinched and looked at him. Pale as he already was, he struggled to take a sit on the couch, like an old grandfather with a bad leg. She rushed to him at once, holding him by the elbow and guiding him to lean against the cushion. His forehead was damp with sweat.

"You should really get some rest, Lord Grosvenor," she whispered, aware that speaking her mind in front of the duke was not tolerable. But he was no longer the extravagant duke; he was an old man burdened for the loss of his son. Somehow, he reminded him of her father, who had died of old age in their townhouse.

"Rest, yes, once we settle the matter with Robert." Lord Hugh grunted, his knuckles white as he clutched the armrest. "Forgive me if I cannot serve tea for you, but I cannot allow servants to hear us."

"No need to worry about me." She poured the steaming rooibos tea and served one cup to the duke. She sat across him, observing his expression. "May I ask why you needed to speak with me?"

"I am weary, Miss Stanmore," he confessed. "I am distressed over Robert's murder."

The word made Cara sat up a little straighter, her eyes now focused more to the duke. She was almost uncertain if she should tell the truth. "But, my lord, reports said that Robert was ran over by a train, right?"

"A lie," he hissed. There was a split second when his eyes blazed with conviction. "A complete and utter lie from the Scotland Yard! My son was _murdered_. Someone killed Robert!" He slammed his fist against the table, and the pot and cups rattled.

"What made you say that?" she asked carefully.

Lord Hugh leaned forward towards her, as if confiding a secret. He even dropped his voice, as if someone could hear them in this spacious room. "I talked to someone the other day, after we took Robert from the hospital," he said. "This man said he saw Robert walking with a stranger around the tracks, the same day he went missing."

"But−"

"The next morning," he continued, bloodshot eyes boring through her, "the locals found Robert dead and naked, Miss Stanmore. My boy… given a death you would not give to a dog… It was no train accident. Trains do not undress boys."

"You spoke to someone? He gave you these details?"

"He did, I swear to you he was a witness."

"According to the Scotland Yard, Lord Robert was ran over by a train," she insisted, but her voice remained as polite as possible. It was her last wish to offend a grieving father.

"Lies," he hissed again. "I will tell you what the Yard said about the murder: they said the train ran him over and the local villagers found him dead by the tracks, with dirt in his mouth. But the witness, the man whom I spoke to, promised that he saw Robert with a stranger. He was there with the locals when they found the body naked."

She shook her head, now confused. What was the point of him telling her? "Should you not be confronting the Yard about this, my lord?"

"It is futile. No one ever second-guesses the Yard. It is as if their word and judgment are absolute. I shall not stand by and cower while I know my son was unjustly murdered." Then he leaned closer, their foreheads almost touching. "I tried to persuade Her Majesty's Officers, the Double Charles."

Her eyes widened upon the mention of the two. She felt a shiver ran down her spine.

"They did not listen," he whispered. "I tried to tell Katherine and Victor, some of my closest friends in the House of Lords. But no one would listen! If the Queen and her officers should ignore my request, then I am quite sure the Watchdog would not even lift a finger to help me."

 _The Watchdog_. She nodded in understanding, despite still not seeing the full picture. _Earl Phantomhive, the Queen's Watchdog._

"No one ever listens," Lord Grosvenor repeated. He clutched his head in both hands and sobbed. "My son… My son… Murdered and no one believes in me…"

"What do you want me to do?" She knew it was the one thing he was waiting for her to say. Sure enough, his head came up and his face seemed to glow with life again, even for a brief moment. "If there is anything I could do to help−"

The duke clasped her hands tightly. "We need to find Robert's murderer," he said desperately. "I need to know who he is so I could sentence him to jail for eternity!"

Cara nodded. "And how do you think we should start?"

That made the duke pause. Perhaps the poor man did not think of even getting this far with his senseless babblings. No wonder his eldest son Victor did not want Cara to listen; his father sounded like a complete lunatic as he spoke about his little theory. But there was also no denying that the duke looked like he needed support. If not from his family, then perhaps Cara could help.

"I have the man's name and address with me," he answered after a while. He stood up from the couch and opened one of the drawers. He returned to her with a small piece of paper, and handed it to her. He touched her hand again, as if thanking her. "He lives in Sunridge Village, just south-west in the outskirts of London. You might want to take someone to accompany you when you interrogate him."

She stared at the incredulity of this. She only offered help, not to interrogate the so-called witness in a rural village outside London. "With all due respect, Lord Grosv−"

"Please!" He dropped to his knees and bowed his head before her. His whole body was shaking. "Miss Stanmore, please! I know no one else who could help me! The Queen, the Watchdog, the Double Charles… they have all abandoned my cause! Please, you are the only one I could think of… Robert… He was really fond of you, you know. He always talked about how he was learning so fast in his lessons."

"Lord Grosvenor…"

"Do it for Robert," he pleaded. "For my son, for your student…"

Cara sighed and glared at the piece of paper. _Armand Norris, Sunridge Village_ −it read. She closed her eyes. "Very well, I shall go to Sunridge and speak with Mister Norris. I want to hear his side of the story, before we could condemn the Yard for lying in their reports."

Hugh Grosvenor looked up at her and smiled. "Thank you. Oh, thank you very much, Miss Stanmore."

She smiled back and pocketed the paper. Perhaps helping this poor, restless father was not a bad idea after all.

* * *

The downpour was heavy outside the mansion. The once blue skies were now dark grey, occasionally streaked with a flash of lightning. The number of guests had dwindled during Cara's time with the duke, but she found the Double Charles still lingering around the buffet table. She looked around for Victor−not for her own benefit−but to hear his thoughts about his father's theory. She turned around the ballroom, her black skirts sweeping across the floor, and almost bumped to the subject of her interest.

"Lord Victor! I did not see you standing there!"

"No worries." He chuckled. "What did my father tell you?"

"Oh, he wanted me to take young Lord William for a hunting trip, but we could really not decide on the place," she answered her practiced lie, peeping up at him under her lashes, hoping against all hopes he would not press the matter further.

"Did he?" He tilted his head to the side, wavy brown locks swaying. He stroked his chin, looking quite surprised. "Do you have any idea in mind as to where? You're the expert; perhaps you have an idea?"

She laughed demurely, one gloved hand over her mouth. She looked up at him but somehow caught glimpse of Charles Grey over his shoulder. The silver-haired noble was scowling at her for some godforsaken reason. "I would never try to overrule your father," she told Victor. "I could hunt wherever place you choose."

"Sounds convenient," he agreed. "Perhaps I could join you one time."

"Join us?" She blushed at the thought of this handsome young man hunting alongside her. She would have looked down on the floor, but the sudden crash of lightning made her jump and look out the window. It was raining harder; the very world outside the mansion was darker.

Victor saw the concerned look on her face. "May I escort you back home, Miss Stanmore?"

"You… You would do that?"

"Actually−" Charles Grey walked over to them, glowering. He glanced at both Cara and Victor, and fixed his attention on the nobleman. "We are heading back to the city. Perhaps _Miss Stanmore_ here would like to join me and my partner?" He spat her name like poison, his frown still in place.

Charles Phipps nodded along, his grey eyes observing the heavy downpour. "Yes, I do think you should come with us, Miss Stanmore. It would be faster and safer if you have companions in this weather."

Victor shook his head. "Well, I was asking to escort her so she would not be alone."

"I should like to think two butlers of the Queen would be enough to escort such a fine young lady," Grey crooned, but his attention was on Cara. She was smiling at him, but his frown never wavered.

Again, thunder rumbled.

"The longer we stay here, the worse it gets," Phipps said.

Cara's shoulders dropped and she smiled at Victor. "I think I might accept the offer, Lord Victor. Thank you for everything today. Do tell Lord and Lady Grosvenor that I have gone off." She curtseyed and he bowed.

Before she knew it, she was following the Double Charles.

* * *

The world outside the carriage was a mixture of raindrops, fog, and blurry figures of people trying to seek shelter from the rain.

Cara was torn between amusement and utter dread. She sat beside Charles Grey, whose eyes were glued to the window, while Charles Phipps sat across them, looking solemn and peaceful with his eyes closed. She realized she like the latter one much better; Phipps had been the one apologizing yesterday after the ruckus. On the other hand, the other Charles scowled at her; she could even hear the low rumble emanating from his throat.

 _Carmilla Payne_. What a laugh. Any well-read individual could have caught the reference. But she supposed he was not the reading type.

It was a bad decision to lie about her name. Who would have thought she would meet him again anyway? He looked like the sort of nobleman who would not give two cents about someone like her. But lo and behold! The very high-ranking nobleman sat not one feet away from her, and he was far from smiling now.

 _Maybe I should apologize_ , she mused. She certainly did not want Her Majesty's butler and officer chasing after her for such a lie. She observed him under her lashes; he had silver-white hair, shaggy and chin-length, except for a longer patch that went over his shoulder. At a closer inspection, prominent eyelashes framed his round grey eyes, now staring in boredom outside the window. She had never seen anyone with such a peculiar look. In fact, no one around her neighborhood looked as charming as the earl was.

"Where do you live, Miss Stanmore?"

She flinched, turning to the officer sitting across her. "Just a little south of Westminster."

There was an exchange of whispered voices between Phipps and the coachman, while the sulking earl beside her groaned aloud and scooted away from her, as far as the seats would allow.

His constant grumbling and sighing reminded her of some of her students, who were mostly stubborn. The very image of the Earl Grey frowning like refusing to look at her was a child scolded for bad behavior.

When Phipps asked again, Cara held up her hands. "You do not have to escort me all the way there. You could drop me to the nearest street and I shall be on my way," she murmured.

Grey shifted on his seat. "Wonderful," he said, but his voice was dull.

"No, we cannot allow that." Phipps shook his head. His own silver-white hair swayed from his movements. Cecily perched herself above his head, quite at home nestled against his silvery locks. "What kind of gentlemen would we be, if we leave a young lady out on a pouring rain like this? We insist you escort you all the way to your house, Lady Stanmore."

"If you say so." She felt the other Charles slump back in defeat, though she did admire Phipps for his genuine care. He was much more appreciated than this heap of sulking earl next to her.

A few moments later, Grey moved away from the window and turned his pouting face at her. One elegant eyebrow raised, his left hand going to the hilt of his sword. "If you live in Westminster, then we have enough time in our hands."

Phipps blinked. "Time for what?"

Grey lifted his right leg and attempted to hit Cara on the face. The young woman dodged, her nose inches from the white boot with a black bow. Still grinning, Grey raised his other leg and successfully hit her on the stomach. She doubled over, coughing, but then took hold of the leg in front of her face and pushed it away.

Cara answered with a kick of her own, hitting the other's left shoulder, her black skirts billowing all around the two of them. She braced herself when Grey suddenly charged at her, his hands ready to pin her down on the seat. Her head hit the steel frame of the window, making her wince, just as Grey had her hands on either side of her head. Her knee emerged from between them and slammed against Grey's stomach.

He coughed and fell to the carriage floor, while she sat up on the seat, panting. Grey pounced back to her, and she fell back once more to struggle against his hold and weight.

Somewhere along the lines, Phipps was ordering for them to stop.

The carriage rattled as the two exchanged a series of punching and kicking. Grey wrapped his hand around her neck; Cara scratched at his cheek like an enraged cat; he drew back a little, laughed, and yanked at her black hair; she brought her face close to his and slammed her forehead against his; he remained above her, struggling to hold both her wrists; she raised her leg and kicked his shoulder.

Suddenly, the carriage took a wild turn to the left. At this rate, with Grey and Cara fighting each other, the carriage would certainly overturn. Phipps gasped and dashed to the right, but his weight was not enough for the whole carriage. A crash would be inevitable now.

Thinking fast, Cara grabbed Grey by the collar, jumped towards the other end of the carriage and dragged the nobleman with her. Her head hit the soft cushion, but her sudden grab for him forced Grey's face against her chest, buried deep into the soft layers of her dress.

Much to her and Phipps's relief, the carriage steadied once more and moved on.

Grey's face shot up from her chest, as he glowered down at her. "What the hell was that all about?!"

"You were making too much fuss," she answered, calm and composed. She remained lying on her back while Grey was on top, with the length of his body between her legs. "The carriage was overturning."

"Well, you could have told me that instead of grabbing me like a piece of cloth!" he lashed out, still unaware of their compromising position. His hands were on her arms as he looked down at her with a very furious expression.

"There was no time," she pointed out. "Now could you please get off of me?"

"What?" He stopped ranting and blinked. Slowly, he stared at her face and down to where he was, comfortable above her with his legs in between hers. He was immediately seized by the scent of her, some sort of sweet rosewater and lavender combined. He felt like throwing up as he jumped off her, but not without a blush staining his cheeks.

Cara sat up again and smoothed down her dress. "Ah, that's better," she said in a cheerful tone.

Then it was Phipps who leaned towards his partner and smacked him hard on the head.

"Ow!" Grey whined, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. "What was that for, Charles?"

"For forcing a young lady into another one of your petty games," Phipps scolded. He sat back on his seat, crossed his arms over his chest, and shot his partner a serious look. He seemed more like a father scolding his two children for misbehaving in his presence. His fingers tapped against his arm, as if impatient. "Well? Shouldn't you apologize for your ill behavior?"

Cara glanced at her previous opponent and knew that he was none too pleased to be surrendering. To her surprise, he scoffed and turned to her, now with a playful smirk across his lips.

"I suppose you being the teacher of Earl Phantomhive is well-founded," Grey told her. "I am glad to confirm that you are not as useless as you seem to be. You ought to teach that brat a little better when it comes to shooting."

"Earl Phantomhive does well enough in his lessons," she countered, defending the young earl.

"Of course he does." Grey rolled his eyes and settled back to his seat.

At her bidding, the carriage stopped in front of her townhouse.

Phipps grabbed an umbrella and extended his hand to her. He left Cecily behind on the couch. "Please watch your step."

Cara held his offered hand, while the coachman opened the door for her. Now standing at the threshold, she was prepared to thank them there, but the two officers jumped out of the carriage to escort her further inside. Her cheeks started to burn in embarrassment, ashamed to show these highborn nobles where she lived. She dropped her eyes on the floor, and when she looked back up, Charles Grey was smirking at her, obviously taking delight watching her squirm with unease.

"Well, we are not quite the gentlemen yet if we do not see you safely inside," Grey hummed. He leaned his head back to examine the dreary interior, paneled windows with old blue curtains, and the rusting iron lamps by the door. He let out a soft, amused whistle, and then turned back to her with a smirk. "You did not tell us you live in a ghetto."

Her cheeks flushed again, lowering her head in shame.

"That's not nice, Charles," Phipps admonished his partner. Then he asked her in a soft voice. "Would this be all right, Miss Stanmore? Do you have further requests?"

"Oh, no!" She held up her hands in an instant. "I am very well now. Thank you so much for taking me home, Officers."

"Such a quaint place this is," Grey noted, still looking around. He returned to her and raised his brow. "Well, are you not going to let us inside?"

She blanched at that, and noticed that this turn of events was amusing the earl. He must be thinking of paying her back for lying to him earlier. "Forgive me, Officers, but I did not have time to prepare for some snacks. I certainly did not expect any guests today either."

"No problem," Phipps assured her, while he nudged his partner with his shoulder. "We are only here to escort you safely. Have a pleasant evening, Miss Stanmore." He bowed and expectantly looked down at his partner.

"Maybe next time," Grey purred, as she seemed flustered at his indication. "You did not expect guests today, but perhaps you could expect me next time. I am looking forward for an exceptional batch of food of your own cooking, Miss Stanmore."

Cara tried hard not to glare as he poured oil into their fiery quarrel. Yet she found a smile just for him, and curtseyed. "Next time it is, Mister Officer. I do hope you send a letter before coming in here."

His smirk widened, his grey eyes reflecting mischief. "We will see, Miss Stanmore."

With that, the Double Charles bowed and climbed back into the carriage. Phipps watched her from the window, while Grey smirked and waved a hand at her, as if they were some sort of friends.

Keyword: As if.


	5. Visiting

**Chapter 05**

 _ **Visiting**_

* * *

The house felt like a big world for her. Three stories high with imposing roofs, several guest rooms, and a spacious drawing room, living alone surely seemed as if the place was too much for her. Cara would have preferred moving to the outskirts of London, living in a smaller house, and earning little money. The same year her adoptive father died, she had the chance to leave. Yet she stayed. Why? Because it was the only home she had ever known after she survived that blizzard.

Wilhelm Stanmore had found her wandering with other children in the streets, with sunken eyes and thin to the bone. Cara's black hair had been dry and frizzy, her skin dappled with many bruises and cuts, and her feet sore and bloody after endless of running across the streets in search for food.

According to Wilhelm, he was a lonely man, who lived alone in his small house and only earned very little. When he took her under his wing, he gathered up all his savings to buy a bigger house for them−this very townhouse−and even hired a number of servants to work for both lonely father and daughter. His earnings as a worker in a gun manufacturing company had been enough to last for a few years before his death. He had taken Cara to numerous hunting trips in the countryside, and sometimes in the factory itself where the working men were delighted to have such little girl among them.

Countless weeks spent in the countryside had shaped Cara in the next years. While her father's health and fortune deteriorated, she grew stronger and more agile. While he spent less time outdoors, she ran under the shades of trees in pursuit of a cunning fox. She had been more engrossed in her own entertainment until it was too late: her father and savior, her hero, was suffering from meningitis.

Cara was too busy growing up that she had forgotten that her father was growing old, too.

After his passing, it never crossed to Cara's mind to abandon the house, despite the outrageous debts her father failed to pay over the years. Instead, she had worked in different establishments and received meager payments. There were countless nights when she did not receive her salary, and even more nights when she had no dinner.

The roasted pheasant with mashed potatoes from the Phantomhives was already such a blessing.

With a roof over her head, food on the table, and fire to keep her warm, this was her home. Even if it took all her life to pay her father's debts, she would not leave this place.

* * *

Cara finished hertea and staggered a little. It must have been from exhaustion. With too many problems swirling about her, she was bound to feel a little tired. But she was more than just tired: her eyelids were heavy, her vision blurry. Her mind began playing tricks on her when she saw handguns and blood on the floor, a dead body on the side, and a long shadow thrown across the floor. She clutched her aching head and blinked a few times. When she calmed herself down, the images were gone.

She went downstairs to her piano. It stood between the two windows, allowing her to look out the streets and watch the people sprint under the pounding of the rain. Instead of playing a piece, she took out a newspaper and laid it on the wooden frame. She would have believed that young Robert Grosvenor died in a train accident, but the morning of his funeral, Lord Grosvenor had snatched her out of sight and pleaded to her.

There was no way that Robert was murdered, right? She would have never believed Hugh Grosvenor−but when she saw how much his glazed eyes bore through her, deep inside, she knew he was not lying. That father grieving for his son was not lying. Someone altered Robert's information in the Scotland Yard. But to what purpose? To shield the murderer?

She got up from the piano and grabbed the paper with her. If there were someone who had a penchant for solving mysteries, it would be none other than her neighbor and friend, Arthur Conan Doyle.

"M-Miss Stanmore? It's raining still!" Arthur exclaimed when he found her standing by his doorway. "What brings you here? Is everything all right? Or did water start leaking from your ceiling again?"

"No, Mister Wordsmith," she said, laughing at his wild imagination. She found it endearing that he should jump to many possible options at once. "I came here to ask you a favor, if you're not too busy."

"Of course, of course!" He opened the door wider and started collecting the crumpled papers from the floor, then threw them into the nearest bin. He swiped his desk clean, arranged some of the books, and offered her a seat on the couch. "Please make yourself comfortable. Would you like some tea?"

She sat on the couch and nodded. Her head still ached from before. "Tea sounds good."

"Great. Um, I-I will be right back." He dashed towards the kitchen, making the pans and cutleries clash together. He returned shortly with a steaming pot and set it on the table. "What can I do for you, Miss Stanmore?"

"You have chosen the mystery genre, I hope?" She looked across the room and found his desk still cluttered by papers. "I hope you still are. Your character is very engaging and I love his assistant."

"I am trying." He scratched his temple, suddenly embarrassed. "But I need more characters for the short stories. You said you needed help with something?"

"Oh, yes." She smoothed the newspaper down on the table and presented it to him. She began explaining the details, starting with her position as Robert's teacher to his untimely death a few days ago from a train crash. She disclosed her conversation with Lord Grosvenor, about the discrepancy between the information of his man and the Scotland Yard. She watched Arthur nod intently, no doubt letting every detail sink in while his wide, imaginative mind began to work its wonders.

"I would assume Lord Grosvenor would be in the wrong with this," he concluded. "He is, after all, a grieving father. Perhaps he cannot accept his son's death, therefore blaming others to seek justice. Perhaps the capture of the driver is not enough for him."

"But he said he talked to someone who saw Robert on the day he died," she pressed. "He was very sure this man was speaking the truth. He was among the locals who found the body naked."

Arthur weighed her statement for a while. "Assuming Lord Grosvenor is right, why are the reports from the Yard different?" he said at length, setting his dark gaze on her. "If this man cannot be identified, at least the Yard must have interviewed those who found the body. Why lie in the records?"

"Maybe someone altered the information," she guessed. This was not her strongest point, but the death of her student still baffled her. "Someone might have sneaked in and altered the information?"

"It is possible, though I would feel more at ease if we talked to Lord Grosvenor and met this man he trusts so much." Arthur began taking notes of the case in his little notepad. "Time and date are very important key factors, including those who saw the body first, the paramedics who came to retrieve the body, and the officers from the Yard who drew up the information. It would be easier if we asked help from Lord Grosvenor."

She took out another piece of paper. "I have the name and address of the witness here."

"Armand Norris?" He blinked, looking thoughtful. "From Sunridge? Isn't that the small village outside the city?"

"Yes, and I agreed to interrogate the man."

"We are in luck that we have his name," he beamed, ecstatic now. "If only I could confirm a few more details from Lord Grosvenor, perhaps we could solve the case soon!"

His enthusiasm made her smile. "Of course. We could go there together, perhaps tomorrow. It is Sunday, and I think none of them would be out for entertainment after what happened.

Arthur's cheeks flushed at the thought of them going together. He shut his notepad and helped her finishing the tea. He said his goodbye to her at the doorway, and waited until she closed the door of her room.

Cara discarded the newspaper and went straight to her bedroom. She collapsed on the mattress, facedown and arms stretched out like an eagle. She felt more exhausted today than most days.

It was not long after when she fell asleep, her dreams of an endless winter beginning.

* * *

The next morning, Cara and Arthur returned to the Grosvenor House. Like yesterday, the place was packed with many relatives and acquaintances of the family. It was hard for the two of them to find their way around the ballroom, searching for any signs of the duke. Arthur glanced once at the grand casket at the head of the room, surrounded by flowers and ribbons, while ensuring he followed behind Cara as she wound her way through the crowd.

Someone stepped into their path. While Arthur blinked at the man, Cara was already blushing.

"Back so soon, Miss Stanmore?" Victor queried. He took her gloved hand and kissed it softly, before his gaze landed on the writer behind her. "Oh, you brought a friend?"

"Yes, my lord." She turned to introduce her companion. "Lord Victor, this is my friend, Sir Arthur Doyle. Mister Wordsmith, this is Lord Victor Grosvenor, the Duke of Westminster's eldest son and heir."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord!" Arthur bent his upper body for a stiff bow, his fists shaking at his sides. "Let me express my sincerest condolences for the loss of your younger brother."

"Thank you, Mister Doyle." Victor smiled down at him. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Of course, any friend of Miss Stanmore's is a friend of mine as well." He gave Cara one of his charming smiles again and gestured for them towards the buffet. "How was your trip? Do get something to eat. There's too much of everything on the table. Please, go on."

The room was noisy, and Cara was glad that no one had to hear her stomach grumbling. She accepted his hand and followed him to the table. Her mouth watered at the sight of the different pastries served, from all sorts of fruits to foreign chocolate. It was almost too hard to choose one.

"I am glad to see you back again, Miss Stanmore." Victor turned his back on the table and leaned against the edge. His eyes observed the young woman as he spoke in a hushed tone. "You do not realize that you alone make Robert's death tolerable for me."

"Why so?" She raised her eyebrow, while her hands were clutching the desert plate tightly.

"Too many sad faces here." He shrugged, casting his gaze out like a fishing line. "Too many souls who did not even know Robert, and do not care less about his death. They are here for the gossips and are prepared to spread the slanders."

"You should not think of them that way," she advised, putting a gentle hand on his forearm. "They are here for your brother, not for gossips. I am very sorry you think of such things."

Victor blinked, and then laughed to himself. "I suppose you're right," he murmured.

"Is Lord Grosvenor here?" She looked around the place, while Arthur was sipping a wine that a servant offered him. "My friend here is an expert and I believe he has something interesting for the duke."

"Let me take you to him," he offered, pushing himself off the table. "My father is in the drawing room with some friends, but I could find a way for a special audience with him." He smiled at Arthur. "Follow me, Sir Doyle."

Arthur paled and waited for permission from Cara. When she nodded, he nodded back and followed Victor out of the room.

Without the two of them, Cara returned to the table and handpicked some of the best pastries offered. It was not everyday when someone offered you a large table filled with so many food. She took one plate and filled it with the strawberry and cream cake; another plate was for the gateau chocolate; another for lemon meringue pie; and the last plate for the multi-colored macaroons. She sat far away from the eyes of the crowd and set herself eating to her heart's content.

An hour later, Arthur returned to her while scribbling furiously on his little notepad. His forehead was sweating, his dark brown eyes deep in concentration. He did not even realize that he was standing in front of Cara, until she cleared her throat and tapped his shoulder.

"You seem to be elated, Mister Wordsmith," Cara commented with a laugh.

"It is so extraordinary," Arthur answered, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. "I never would have believed it to be possible, that young Lord Robert might have been killed. I was hesitant when I listened to you, but when I talked to Lord Grosvenor and heard what he had to say, I was convinced. I _am_ convinced now. It is only a matter of time until we interrogate this Armand Norris from Sunridge to bring light into the case."

"What case?" Victor came upon them in three quick strides. Gone were his charming smiles. He was now frowning, glaring even, at Arthur. His fists curled at his sides, as his once cheerful disposition turned into an extremely disappointed one. "What has my lord father told you, Sir Doyle?"

"Well, um−" Arthur stammered, uncertain how to receive this kind of reaction. "Y-You see, ah…"

"He told his little theory again, didn't he?" Victor demanded. His angry gaze shifted from Arthur to Cara, who was as shocked as the writer, to see the nobleman in such a bad temper. "I told him many times never to tell anyone, since no one would believe him after all. It is his old mind playing tricks, that's all. There was no murder, no witness, no altercation of information."

Cara stepped in front of Arthur, shielding him from the outburst. "Which are all true, my lord. But we are only here to ease your father's mind. If his theory is wrong, all we have to do is prove it. R-Right?"

Arthur sighed in relief, and nodded along with her. "Only to ease the duke's troubled mind," he repeated.

"But… To sully our family name…" Victor lowered his head and covered his face with a hand. "I cannot have him staining the family name for something so trivial…"

"Lord Victor…" Cara peered at his face and tried to smile. "No one's staining the Grosvenor name. Let Mister Wordsmith and I find the truth behind everything. It is what little I could do to help about young Robert's death. You should not worry so. In fact, you should be taking care of your father. He grows old, too, you know."

"You're right." The nobleman straightened himself, and his smiles returned again. "You're right, Miss Stanmore. You are truly such a help in every way possible."

She was flustered by his compliment. "It was nothing, Lord Victor. I am always glad to help. Your family has been very good to me these past few months."

"Indeed. Yet we have never really thanked you enough, have we?"

"Oh, I could never ask for more."

"Truly?" Victor chuckled. "Everyone always wants more."

She fixed him with an amused gaze. "Not me, Lord Victor. I always have enough."

"Enchanting," he noted, humming.

* * *

Arthur and Cara left by five o'clock, just as the crowd was thinning in the house. Before they left, Victor gave them large boxes filled with the desserts served that day, one to each of them. Arthur had been against the idea of taking so much food home, because of his poor connection with the nobleman; but Cara wholeheartedly accepted the heavy box and thanked Victor for his kindness.

"You should really learn how to accept gifts and invitations, Mister Wordsmith," she teased while they were in the carriage. "We ought to show how gracious we are for other people's thoughtfulness."

"You're used to it," he mumbled. "Pretty as you are, I could only imagine how many gifts and offers you get from your many suitors."

"Suitors?" She laughed. "I hardly even have time for socializing, Mister Wordsmith. And I have less money and dresses for that kind of affair."

"Well, one of these days, we are bound to socialize with others." He sighed, looking out the window. The carriage was nearing their neighborhood now. "It's the social season, is it not? Nobles are starting to gather and spread invitation amongst acquaintances."

Cara shrugged. "Social season or not, I have no time and money and dress for such occasion. I am fine where I am now."

As the carriage was slowing to a stop, Arthur noticed someone standing outside his companion's townhouse. He gaped, wide-eyed and almost stupefied, at the very unexpected sight of him. He immediately opened the carriage door and bolted towards the nobleman.

"E-Earl Grey?!"

"Hm?" Charles Grey turned about and blinked. There was no light of recognition in his face. He merely remained quiet and uncertain, but he did react and smile when Cara emerged from the carriage. "Oh! Miss Stanmore! How are you, and where have you been? You kept me waiting long enough."

"Wh−What are you doing here?!" She stomped towards him, astounded.

"What's with that question?" His brow rose inquiringly. "You promised you would receive me in your house, did you not?"

"I said next time!"

"That was yesterday. Technically, today _is_ the next time." He smirked.

"Um… Miss Stanmore?" Arthur chuckled nervously as the pair shot him a quick glare for interrupting. "I think it is better for me to go… Ah, um, thanks for today!" Then he dashed to his house, shut the door, and drew the curtains.

Cara looked back at Grey, trying to come up with a very good reason, but she dropped her shoulders in defeat. She realized one thing about the nobleman: he was stubborn and he would never take no for an answer. "Mister Officer," she said in an amiable tone, "I am very sorry to tell you that I am not prepared to receive you today. I was expecting you to come at least a few days later, and with a single _letter_ to notify me of your arrival."

"You were simply not prepared enough," he countered. "You said next time; I agreed. Well, then. Shall we dine on the streets or do we get to go inside and have a decent talk?" He closed the distance between them and grinned his shit-eating grin that Cara might wipe off with a slap, or maybe a roundhouse kick.

She remained at her post, as stubborn as he was. "Really, I have nothing for you. I have no snacks or tea to offer you."

"Oh, no need to worry about that." He beamed and presented her a large picnic basket with small flowers and thin ribbons tucked on the side of the handle. "Ah, don't mind the flowers and all. Phipps just has a penchant for designing everything. But! I brought chocolate bourbon cake, caramel cake with cream cheese, French apple tarts−"

"You planned this out really well, didn't you?" She sighed.

"Of course!" He puffed out his chest in pride. "The Queen's butler and officer must always be prepared for everything at any given moment. Unlike some hunting teacher I know−and I don't want to name names."

She threw up her hands, quite exasperated. "Fine! You win, Officer! One dinner for today and no more!"

Grey went to the door and waited for her to open it. When she looked up at him, still scowling, he winked back. "Well, that's your side, Miss Stanmore. I would _never_ agree to such a thing."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Wow! I almost forgot this story actually existed! Many apologies for the overdue update. Life has been a hassle and all. Ugh. I will try to update as regularly as I can. In the meantime, please enjoy this chapter with sweet cinnamon roll Arthur and the s̶h̶i̶t̶t̶y̶ Earl Grey!

Can we talk about the latest Kuroshitsuji chapters though?! My heart aches for CieLizzy! T_T


	6. Annoying

**Chapter 06**

 _ **Annoying**_

* * *

 _Breathe, Cara. Just breathe._

She could say it was all well and good to have a nobleman in her house, but she was anxious all the same to have him look around the drawing room with wide eyes and an amused little smile spreading across his lips. She stood by the stairs, clasping her cold hands, as the noble checked the entirety of the room, examining what less furniture she had at home, and then nodded in approval.

Charles Grey set the picnic basket on the table and dropped himself on the couch. His right arm stretched across the back frame of the couch, while he crossed his leg over the other. Then he gave her an expecting look. "You live alone, Miss Stanmore?"

His voice, both playful and curious, snapped her back to attention. "Erm, yes, I do. My father passed away a few years ago and the servants all left after that."

"Why so?" His eyebrow quirked, as if he found the notion absurd.

"Things became complicated after my father passed away." She cradled the box that Victor gave her earlier, and took the basket from the table. "Please wait here while I make preparations."

"Sure." He waved her away and resumed his observation of the place, while he watched her disappear from his peripheral vision.

Then he got up, approached the bookshelf near the couch, and browsed some of the books. He was not an avid reader, neither were Phipps nor Brown, but they did have a bookshelf that dominated a wall in their office. This one, he noted with amusement, was smaller and older. At least it was neat and the books were in order−he had to nod approvingly and resume his exploration.

The fireplace across the couch was cold and seemingly untouched for a long while. With hands on his hips, he stared at the several picture frames lined up on the shelf. He saw a middle-aged man with a long face, dark hair and eyes. The man in the picture kneeled beside a young girl of around ten years old, dark-haired and smiling as she held up a dead fox in one hand and a rifle in the other. Charles blinked and compared their appearances, and found no traces of resemblance at all.

The second picture next to it was of Cara in her early teenage years, wearing a bright dress with a wide brim hat. She had two dogs in a leash, and her other hand clutched a carbine. Charles assumed it was many of her hunting trips that gave her experience enough to teach noblemen's young sons in the art of hunting and target shooting.

He paused for a while, straining to hear if she needed help in the kitchen or in her way back to the drawing room. Upon hearing nothing, he moved on to the next picture: Cara wore the white uniform used for fencing, although Charles could tell that this was more of a handmade uniform, a poorer imitation of the real fencing gear. In the picture, Cara was equipped with a rapier, her right hand extended to an invisible opponent, and her helmet could be seen discarded on the ground. She seemed to be in a forest, not in a fencing tournament at all.

Cara returned with a tray of the combined pastries Charles and Victor had given her. She stopped in her tracks when she found him prying around. "What are you doing?"

"Ah, this man here−" He pointed an index finger to the first picture−"is he your father?"

"Yes. Now could you please take your seat?" She turned her back against him and laid out the chinaware and silverware for the meal. Her collection was not at the same level as what Earl Phantomhive always had, but it was good enough to pass for the two of them. "I hope you don't mind, but I prepared Earl Grey tea."

Charles chuckled, still amused. "I don't mind at all, but it flatters me that you should rather choose a tea named after my family."

"It is not meant for flattering," she backfired. "Now could you please sit down?"

"As you wish." He tore his eyes off the pictures and returned to the couch. He snatched the teacup and inhaled the fragrant scent of the tea. From the corner of his eye, he watched her lay out the desserts and decided to help her. "I hope you don't mind the cakes I brought. Phipps usually bakes whatever he has in mind. He never bothers to ask what _I_ want."

"Is it important that you get what you want?" This time, it was her turn to raise her brow.

"Well, I never said that I should take precedence in whatever he does," he pointed out, "but he could at least ask for my opinion every once in a while." He took the platter with the chocolate bourbon cake and began shoving mouthfuls of it.

Cara sat on the adjacent chair and inhaled the scent of her tea. She held the cup with two hands, savoring the warmth of it against her palms. "Aren't you supposed to be in the palace today? Being Her Majesty's butler and all?"

"It is Sunday," he answered through a mouthful, the chocolate frosting staining the corner of his lips. "Usually, Her Majesty spares us earlier during Sundays. She wants the peace and quiet in the palace."

"And the other officer leaves earlier, that partner of yours?"

"Phipps? 'Course he does. He has a townhouse in the other side of the city where his brothers and younger sister live. He has to go home every now and then, as I do." He finished his slice of cake and reached out for the lemon meringue pie. "So, riddle me this: how could you manage living alone?"

She stopped midway into sipping her tea and blinked at him. He only stared back, waiting. "Is it a bad thing? Living alone?"

"No, but I never heard of anything like it." He shrugged as he took a large bite that almost finished half of the pie. "A young lady such as yourself should at least have a companion or two to take care of her. How is it that you have no servants?"

"I can manage well enough on my own," she answered stoutly. In reality, however, she did not hire servants because she did not have the means to pay for their services. She might be a teacher to several rich students, but her salary was not enough to cover the debts of her father. And she would never tell this to the Queen's butler.

Charles smirked a little. "Such a queer one, aren't you?"

"And you're a stubborn one," she shot back. "Stubborn and very demanding."

"I prefer the term persuasive," he said with a quick wink.

"An aggressive fighter as well."

"Ah, I am glad you noticed." He looked back at the fireplace with the picture frames on top. "So you fence?"

Her glare never flickered. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Not only do you hunt and shoot, but also fence." He smirked, waving his little dessert fork at her direction, before stabbing the pie with it. He brought the slice to his lips, his grey eyes still locked on hers in a heated stare-off. "I could think of many ways to persuade you to fight me."

"Like I said, very demanding."

"Like I said, I prefer persuasive."

Cara snorted and focused on munching on the caramel cake that Phipps had baked. She didn't want to show any reaction, but the wonderful taste surprised her. How butlers like Phipps and Sebastian made their pastries so unbearably delicious was beyond her.

"So do you fence or was that picture just a little charade?" Charles asked again. Stubborn.

"I do, but not much." She hoped that would be the end of it.

"Never been in any tournaments, have you?" He propped his elbow against his thigh and peered at her with a childlike curiosity that Cara would have found endearing if only Ciel Phantomhive did it. But Charles Grey was far from the thirteen-year-old earl.

"Of course not." She almost rolled her eyes at the idea, but stopped herself in time. She kept her voice unendingly pleasant and sweet, despite the increasing anxiety in her mind. How long did the Queen's butler intend to stay in her house? "I am a very poor fencer, Officer."

He was unconvinced. He drank his tea and let his thoughts wander. "So you teach hunting instead?"

"I could do whatever. As long as it keeps food on the table."

"Hm, that's a strange way to say it."

She forced a smile. "I suppose the ways of us common people are always lost upon the highborn. It even makes me wonder why someone from the Queen's household would like to spend time with a nobody. Surely you have other ways to entertain yourself, Mister Officer."

Charles snorted and leaned back against the couch. "I'm tired with all the dreary faces I see everyday. Besides−" He suddenly jumped out of his seat and leaned his face so close to hers−"it is not everyday a mere commoner would _lie_ to my face about her name."

"O-Oh? You… remember that?" She smiled, with a little nervous edge in her voice. His face hovered so close before her that she could actually see the silver specks in his grey eyes.

"Of course I do! What do you take me for?! I never forget a slight, not even the slightest one!"

"Excuse me for doing that." She pushed him off her and he retreated with a scowl.

"Why would you lie about something like that?" He crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. "Do you have any idea how stupid you made Phipps and I look if we continued calling you Miss Payne?"

Cara tried to smile and wave her hands. "Really, I didn't mean to do that. But I was so afraid that I had fought against the Queen's officers and I thought you would have me arrested for that," she explained. She could see the interest reflected in his eyes and continued, "And, for a commoner like me, I never would have expected to meet you again."

"Do you now?" he purred and leaned closer, his elbows resting on his knees. "And how baffled must you be to have such high-ranking noble drinking tea and eating pastries with a commoner like you."

"Indeed," she answered, a little out of breath now since his face was leaning towards her again.

"And are you glad to have me here tonight?" he whispered.

"I am honored by your mere presence, my lord." She stayed still, as stiff as block, as his smirking face inched closer and closer until she could almost feel his forehead against her. Within the course of an hour, she realized another thing: he was toying with her.

The smirk on his lips widened and he pressed their foreheads together. "Are you now, you little liar?"

She snorted and roughly pushed him away by the shoulder, and he came away laughing and clutching his stomach for the much-needed air. Despite herself, her cheeks felt warm; no one had ever tried to pull that trick to her. She was a young woman in the peak of her looks and wits, but no man had ever tried to go as far as what Charles Grey had in mind.

Charles was still laughing. "I was almost sure you were falling for it," he managed.

She ticked off the things she realized on her fingers. "Stubborn, very demanding, an aggressive fighter, a _bad_ flirt. You never cease to amaze me, Officer."

He winked. "I could show you more things if you would let me, Miss Stanmore."

"I think I have seen enough for one night."

* * *

Charles Grey was ecstatic to go home.

The Grey House was near the House of Commons in Westminster, where his old sour of a grandfather used to work during the prime of his life, when he was at the very center of politics. The humongous structure came into view, looking more like a medieval haunted castle than a magnificent tourist attraction.

About ten minutes ride away from the House of Commons stood the seat of the Grey Family. Built at the same time as the grand buildings in Westminster, it looked like a white chapel with imposing towers on either side, gilded windows, and carved white columns. The gates opened to reveal a manicured lawn with one fountain at the center, which then led to the grand marble stairs and double doors.

A footman answered the carriage as Charles Grey stepped out and dashed out of the rain. A pair of young maids bowed to him and handed him a towel to dry his hair. There was a small group of stewards who came to assist him with his drenched uniform, but he held up his hand and went straight to the old sour cat's study room.

"My uniform feels disgusting," Charles said by way of greeting. Water trickled from his damp hair down to his back. He found his grandfather hunched over his long wooden desk with paperwork to sign. He dropped himself on the nearby couch.

"Good evening, Charles," Lord Henry Grey said in his usual deep and formal tone. His eyes went up from the document to look down at his frowning grandson. "You are early today. You could have sent a letter you are coming home."

"Her Majesty spared me unexpectedly, and I am glad of the early off."

"Something wrong in the palace?" was the old man's immediate concern, not the weather.

"Just the usual routine, although this time Lord Grosvenor is indisposed."

"So I heard. His son just died a few days ago."

"Fortunately, Her Majesty doesn't listen to little tattletales from Lord Grosvenor. Seems there are discrepancies between some witnesses and the Yard." Charles stretched like a lazy cat on the couch, rolling over to lie on his stomach. He peered at his grandfather and wondered why an old man such as him needed to work still.

Lord Henry rolled his shoulders as he tried to relax. Like his grandson, he had silver hair with grey eyes, though his eyes were darker and sharper. His smile cut like a knife, and his presence carried an absolute command around the household.

"Have you heard of the matter in France?" asked the old man.

"You mean the Montrose pretender blathering nonsense across the sea?" Charles spat. "I could barely understand why Her Majesty needs to worry herself about such a thing. It is obvious that the Roses are gone for years, though she still sent the Watchdog just in case."

"Just in case, huh? You seem so dismissive about the notion. It is your duty to serve the interests of your sovereign."

"It is my duty to serve the Queen. If the Montrose pretender dares to show his face, I would have to dispose of him myself."

Lord Henry shot him a quick dark glare. "Fool," he hissed under his breath. "The Montroses are dangerous enemies. They are a whole family trained to kill enemies around the Borders. Assassins and weapons specialists under the thumb of the Queen and the Watchdog. Have you learned nothing from what I've told you?"

"They are _dead_ ," Charles shot back. "The previous Watchdog disposed of them years ago, long before he himself was killed. The idiot in France is probably one of their many fans. I should not worry about them if I were you or Earl Phantomhive."

Silence hung for a few moments. Outside, the rain thundered on.

The sour old cat of a grandfather finished signing the papers and turned to him with in inquiring look. Even at his age, the old man could still frighten him. "Is there something you want to talk about, Charles?"

"Why? Do I look like someone who needs to talk about something?" Charles waved his hand flippantly, swallowing back a yawn.

"The way you keep beaming and smiling tells me something happened today," Lord Grey pointed out.

"Is it that obvious?" the young earl asked, snickering

Of course, he had been smiling. He had to admit it, but that Cara Stanmore made his evening better than what he could even imagine. The young woman had the audacity−the very nerve−to refuse to all his advances, may that be a fight, walk in the park, and even a little tease. She complained throughout the whole time that he was stubborn, but she was stubborn herself. It amused him more that even though she wanted nothing to do with him, but she remained as accommodating as she could.

As what Phipps often complained of him, Charles was thoroughly observant. He had found the place quiet and a bit spacious, but he was expecting more. It was his relief that the place was at least clean, with a comfortable couch and a relaxing ambiance. Probably because Cara lived alone. Still, the whole living room was not as big as his bedchambers in the palace or in this house in that matter. Oh well, he was not loath to lower his standards for tonight anyway.

"I dined with someone today."

"Oh?" His grandfather sounded interested, though his eyes were back on the documents, reading the paragraphs. He grabbed his pen, made a quick dash on the content, and added it to the pile on his left. Then he took another one and began reading. "Do tell me about it."

"It's nothing very grand." Charles shrugged dismissively, still on his stomach, and propped his chin on the heel of his palm. His legs swayed in the air back and forth. "Just a lady from downtown, Robert Grosvenor's hunting teacher, apparently. She's also Earl Phantomhive's teacher."

Lord Grey nodded, indicating that he was listening.

"I asked for her name during the first day, but she lied to me about it." He had to admit, that one was a blow to his pride, to have a commoner lying to his face, and for Earl Phantomhive to see.

"Maybe she did not like you at first glance." His grandfather put the paper down so Charles could see the taunting smile curved on his lips. If there was someone in the house who knew how to provoke the young earl, it would be him. "Or were you flaunting yourself again like that Viscount Druitt? For sure a learned woman would not approach such a flashy man."

"I was not flaunting!" Charles exclaimed in his defense.

"So why did you approach her in the first place?" Lord Grey's voice was torn between amused and mocking. He raised the paper to his eye level so his grandson could not see his smile.

"Err−"

"Did she interest you?"

"Actually−"

"Did you make her smile at least?"

Charles did a double take and gaped incredulously at his grandfather. He snorted. "Why in the world do I have to make her smile? I am not an entertainer, and I am certainly not obliged to amuse her."

Lord Grey shook his head as if his grandson was a clueless idiot. "Charles, the best way to impress a young lady is to make her smile and laugh. You could flaunt yourself, you can do your charming smiles all you want; but at the end of the day, it is your making her laugh is what matters."

"What's this? Getting all preachy now?" Charles smirked at the old man. "Is this the reason why you have so many children with Grandmother, and even had an illegitimate child afterwards?"

"What happened in the past does not concern you," his grandfather retorted sharply. "If your parents had betrothed you when you were a child, certainly your fiancée would not find you as charming as you think you are."

"And why's that?"

"Because you are a fool."

"Gee, thanks."

"To win a woman's heart, you have to make her laugh," Lord Grey answered as if it was the easiest answer in the world. He spoke like someone from his age, with all the wisdom and experience. "No learned woman would ever want to spend her life with a boring husband, no matter how rich and famous he might be."

Charles thought it made sense, but the very idea was still beyond him. He pouted and swayed his legs in the air again. "And how do you even make them laugh? Phipps doesn't even make jokes but the maids at the palace still moon over him like schoolgirls."

"Because they are shallow girls. You have no need for shallow girls."

"Then how?" Charles stared at his grandfather, finally realizing how experienced the old man actually was. He never imagined himself asking these very questions. It never occurred to him that he would ever ask this sour cat about these matters. He never had troubles with women before, yet he found himself asking nonetheless, only because a woman he did not even like at first glance rejected him.

"You have to figure that out for yourself."

"Whaaat?" he drawled, disappointed.

"It is a great triumph to earn the admiration of many different women, but winning the heart of the one woman you seek is the best triumph of all. There are many kinds of women, so you must figure out how to win the heart of this woman you keep thinking."

The younger Grey scoffed, as if offended. "I hardly ever think of her."

"What's her name?"

Charles blinked, now uncertain if he should tell. At length, he shrugged and said, "Cara Stanmore."

"Hm, Cara, is it?" His grandfather placed the document down and stared at him. Then, setting his shoulders back, he composed himself.

"Why? Have you heard of it before?"

"No, I thought I heard the wrong name."

"So you think it is best that I make her laugh?"

"Smile and laugh, Charles. Take her back home when you have won her heart. I want to meet this Cara Stanmore of yours."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Grandpa Grey spilling the tea here! Also, updating in a rush because I've been up all day and desperate for some sleep. 😂 Real life can be such a hassle! I wish I could just watch/read anime and manga, write fanfictions, eat, and sleep a̶n̶d̶ ̶f̶a̶n̶g̶i̶r̶l̶ all day! Oh, well, we can't have all the nice things, can we? :(

* **DeLacus** \- OMG! We're both alive again! AAHHHH I missed you so much! Thank you for the review! I get to catch up with some old friends. *brb crying*

Arthur is everyone's precious cinnamon roll and I will fight anyone who harms him. Just not Sebby. Or Undertaker and the Shinigami Squad. Or the Double Charles. I will die if I fight these beautiful people.

And what's up with the major feels these last few chapters?! Yana-sensei, what are you doing to us? My heart can only take so much and I am really reaching out for Lizzy. In Chapter 144, I could feel the broken heart. She's far too young to experience this level of heartbreak and this twin mumbo-jumbo! God bless Edward for being such a good and caring older brother. I'm in love with him all over again.

By the way, I also noticed your AOT profile picture! I just got hooked into the manga and anime. I am really, really hooked−like neck-deep in love with the story, characters, and twists. My heart still aches whenever I remember Erwin's death. 💔 I'm also kinda in the middle of writing a Levi/OC, to be published sooner or later. And I'm a bit nervous about it. Haha!

* **CROWPRINCESS** \- Thank you! I also missed talking with lots of people. Wah! So sorry if I get carried away! Thank you for leaving a review! *blows kisses*


	7. Inquiring

**Chapter 07**

 _ **Inquiring**_

* * *

Sunridge Village was approximately an hour and a half ride from southern London.

Arthur and Cara took the first train ride from central London and acquired tickets for third-class passengers. Being early birds, they had the carriage all by themselves, along with a father and daughter seated side-by-side. Others third-class passengers were settling in and cramming altogether, finding vacant compartments before the worse part of the crowd arrived.

A few moments later, the train whistled and began its journey.

Outside, the weather was clear, with bright blue skies and twittering birds. The sleepy streets of London, now waking up, pass by them in a quick blur. The scenery of the neighborhoods switched into a wide field of verdant vegetation. The endless streets of shops and pubs were no longer, a blue-grey mountain loomed at the horizon. The train was making good speed, and as the young daughter pulled down the window, the cold breeze hit them.

Cara closed her eyes and tried to regain her vision. She felt nauseous again, making her vision hazy and unclear. One moment she would see shadows around her. The next she would see nothing. It made her uneasy, nervous even. She tried to keep her calm and stole a glance in front of her.

"What are you doing, Mister Wordsmith?"

Arthur looked up from his little notebook, then smiled at the fields outside. "It's a good change of scenery, wouldn't you agree, Miss Stanmore? I was thinking I should at least make a sketch to show my brothers when I get back."

"You never struck me as a doctor, a writer, _and_ an artist," she teased.

"Well, a man could always find ways to pass the time," he answered sheepishly. "So this railway we are taking, it is the same tracks where they found young Robert?"

"I believe it is. This one passes Sunridge through the forest."

"I see." He went back to his notebook and made a note. "We must find this Armand Norris before anything else, right? But I was thinking of maybe asking some of the locals first. Maybe there are rumors going around the place."

She tilted her head to the side. "You are basing this case on rumors, Mister Wordsmith?"

"Not so, not so!" He flailed his hands and chuckled. "But I could only imagine that the rumors might hold some truth into it. We should give the villagers the benefit of the doubt."

"Very well." She shook her head. "You're the expert; I follow whatever you think is best."

Arthur lowered his gaze at the compliment and it fell upon the lace-embellished white blouse and maroon skirt that she wore. "New dress, Miss Stanmore? I have never seen you wear this before."

"Oh, this old thing?" She laughed, tugging at the black velvet ribbon around her waist. One of the many good things being around Arthur was that she never had to worry about herself, being both poor and all that. She found out that, unlike being with Victor Grosvenor, she did not have to worry about her dresses being old and her shoes worn-out. "I haven't worn this one for ages!"

He laughed back. "Have you? Doesn't seem like it."

"See here." She leaned forward and overturned the sleeve of her blouse. The hem was ragged, and there were small, neat threads where she had stitched it up to cover the ragged edges. "I had to fix it myself just for this occasion."

"Interesting." His dark brown eyes twinkled. He pulled out his notebook and started writing down.

"You find everything interesting, Mister Wordsmith," she noted with a laugh.

"I have to keep notes, too, you know. Anything and everything for my new novel."

"Ah, so you did continue it!"

"I am still gathering my ideas," he said and tucked the notebook in his pocket again. "I really wish I could have it published by next year."

"I think that's wonderful," she agreed, looking out the distance. The mountain loomed closer and closer, and she could see a wide river ahead on her right. She watched the countryside, and for a moment, her eyes landed on her reflection on the window. Sighing, she turned away and closed her eyes.

By nine in the morning, the train halted at the station in Sunridge Village.

Arthur and Cara found themselves in a very rural place; the roads were not even of cobblestones and gravel like in London. The dirt road extended quite far and dispersed into dozens of other minor roads. A few paces from the train station was the building for the local police station. Next to it was the first stretch of the neighborhood, comprising of clinics, book stores, and boutiques. Arthur and Cara passed by some of the merchants at the side of the road, while carts drawn by donkeys crossed the road.

"So, should we ask about the murder first?" Cara asked. Her eyes were still looking around the village, searching for anything she might find out of place.

"I suppose." Arthur scratched the back of his head, took out his notebook, and approached one of the merchants by the road. "Excuse me, good sir, but have you heard of the recent train accident around here?"

The merchant was a big-bellied hulk, with several scars running down from his right ear down to his collarbone. "Eh? An accident, ya say?"

"Right." Arthur nodded, brown locks bobbing up and down. Behind him, Cara remained staring at a distance. "About a few days ago, a young boy was ran over by a train, right here in Sunridge."

"Oh, ya mean tha' poor lad?" the merchant said. "I remember now. Poor lad, right? Ran over during the night." Then he saw the young woman standing behind Arthur. "She your girlfriend?"

Arthur flinched and glanced at Cara. "What?! Oh, no, not her! She's a friend!"

"Hm? I'd go for her if I were ya, lad." The merchant snickered while the writer paled even more. "Nice pretty eyes she got there, and lovely hair."

"T-Thank you very much for answering m-my question, sir!" Arthur shook the man's large, calloused hand and dashed back to Cara's side in a hurry. His forehead was sweating and his hands were shaking when she saw him.

"Everything all right, Mister Wordsmith?"

"We should ask for Armand Norris," he said hurriedly. With a nervous laugh, he took her by the elbow and dragged her away from the large merchant. "Asking the locals was a bad idea, you know? Ha-ha. A big man like that I have no chance of winning against."

Cara looked back and saw the merchant's toothy grin. "That man? If you cannot take him, I can," she said, a little innocent. "Not that I am looking for any fight. What has he done now?"

 _Why does she remind me of Earl Grey?_ he thought. Aloud, he said, "N-Never do you mind him, Miss Stanmore. He was of good help, but nothing more. W-Why don't we ask that old lady over there?"

He laughed his nervous laugh again and went towards the small antique shop at the corner of the street.

The old lady looked up from her sweeping and blinked at Arthur. "Any help I could do to you?"

"Good morning," he greeted. "My friend and I are from London and we're looking for someone called Armand Norris." He showed her the paper from Lord Grosvenor and pointed at the address.

"Well, I know no Armand Norris around these parts, but that address there will take you to the farthest end of the village," said the old woman. She pointed towards south, where the dense forest loomed. She glanced at Cara, then back to Arthur. "You both can take this road down south. You won't get lost."

Arthur bowed repeatedly. "Thank you so much!"

"Thank you." Cara smiled at the woman and followed the road with the writer. "I wonder what kind of character this Armand Norris is, living away from the center of the village like that."

"Hmm, a reclusive one?" he suggested. "The hermit crab kind of person? Or maybe he has some deep, dark past that he wants no one to know? Ah, he might be avoiding contact because of his involvement with the case?"

She laughed at his wild imagination. "Well, we would see soon enough."

The village was not particularly large and bustling; the road from the station to the forest wound only by a few kilometers. Towards the end of the village, the number of houses decreased, and so did the merchants and villagers. Arthur and Cara passed by a small local church at the square, and a wide field of hay crops with sheep and little lambs. By the time the road ended, the sun was high in the skies and the pair was panting and their legs sore from walking.

"I think that's the one." Arthur panted as he pointed ahead. He could see a wooden, medium-sized house with thatched roof, narrow terrace, and a short flight of steps that led to a paneled door. "I do hope Mister Norris is home."

"He'd better be," Cara whined a little, now exhausted. She stopped before the staircase, while Arthur did the talking and the knocking.

Instead, she looked around the place; there were no other houses nearby. This one was the last one in the village before the forest. She went to the left side of the house and saw logs cut down for firewood. There was a mountain of logs, along with a gleaming axe embedded against a tree stump. She rounded towards the back, her curiosity getting the better of her, and saw a small stream behind the house. There were no signs of Armand Norris out here.

Arthur followed her to the back. "I think he is not home," he said.

"Might be in the forest, hm?" She pointed to the shoreline, where muddy footprints led from the back door to the shore. "I think he might be a hunter or a woodman."

"You think so?" He searched around the place. "I am betting he is a woodman around here."

"Shall we search for him in the forest?"

"Is it safe? I mean, we are not from around here, Miss Stanmore."

She took his hand and tucked it under the crook of her elbow. "Relax, Mister Wordsmith. There's nothing in this forest that could harm us."

Sighing, Arthur nodded and let her lead them into the forest across the stream.

They hopped from one stone to another, then landed on the other side. The trees were thick, with dark trunks and sharp grey-green leaves.

"He could be anywhere around here," he murmured. Before he knew it, his companion was on her knees, with her face so close to the earth. He jumped back out of surprise. "M-M-Miss S-Stanmore?!"

"Footprints," was all she said, pointing to a vague shape on the earth. "It seems our Armand Norris is a large, heavy man and walks with an awkward gait."

"Whoa," he breathed. He sat on his haunches and stared at the ground. "You can tell that by simply looking at footprints? Incredible! I have to write this down!" Then he whipped his notebook out and made quick scribbles and sketches.

She rubbed her fingertips against the soil and looked around them. "He's not that far. Perhaps we could catch up with him. Let's go, Mister Wordsmith."

Arthur jumped back to his feet and followed behind her.

 _So quiet_. She narrowed her violet eyes and peered between trees and behind bushes. She could hear neither twittering birds nor rustle of leaves. Upon reaching a small forest clearing, she made her companion stop. She sensed his sudden nervousness, so she beamed at him. "Wait here for me, would you?"

"Ah, y-yeah." He shut his notebook and watched her walk to his left side, towards the thick forest bush.

Cara halted before the bush, eyes boring through the thickness of it. It was amusing that the stranger did not budge from his place inside the bush, thinking himself unseen. But the shiny barrel of his rifle caught her attention.

Digging her heels to the ground, she raised her right leg to kick the barrel out of her way, and twisted sideward to reach behind the man. She forcefully dragged him out of his hiding place, pressed one blade against his throat, and pointed one blade above his heart.

"Aiming the rifle at us is a very bad move," she whispered in his ear.

"Miss Stanmore!" Arthur ran towards her, his mouth wide open. He saw the whole ordeal, from her quick, lithe movements up to her apprehension of this auburn-haired man with a thick beard. He _had_ to write that down and make a sketch of their current position−Stanmore at the back with two knives in her hands, the man raising his palms in surrender.

"Who are you?" Cara took the irritating feeling of uneasiness on him. She gave the man a little shake.

"Me?" The man managed a rueful chuckle. "I should ask the same thing. You were circling my house like vultures looking for their prey."

Arthur blinked. "Then that must mean−!"

"Are you Armand Norris?" She shook him again.

"Aye," answered the man. "The one and only."

Suddenly, the dark look in the young woman's face vanished.

"Oh, well then!" Cara beamed as she let go of Armand and patted his shoulder. She felt much better after taking out some of her edge on him. The man turned to her and rubbed the spot where the blade had been against his throat. "Forgive me for the sudden action I took, Mister Woodman. You are the woodman here, are you not?"

"Yeah." Armand tugged down at his coat and glared at the two of them. "What do you want from me?"

"We would like to ask you a few questions," said Arthur, all friendly and professional. He had his notebook at the ready, his pen poised. "We came here with the permission of Lord Hugh Grosvenor regarding the recent death of his youngest son, Robert."

Armand seemed unfazed. He slung his rifle across his back and pointed a thumb back towards the stream. "Sounds something we can talk while in the house. Come along, fellows."

"Oh, Mister Woodman?" Cara cut him off and dropped the two knives in his hands. "I borrowed these."

"Huh? What?" Armand flinched and looked around his person, his hand patting his waist and behind his back. Then he turned back to the young woman and glared. "How d'you get them? What trick did you use?"

"What are you saying?" she countered, her voice all sweet and innocent. She went back to Arthur and clung to his arm. "It was no trick−I simply pulled them out."

* * *

The three settled back into the house. Armand Norris remained in his hunting gear, but removed his cap and set the rifle and knives aside. He received his guests in the small living room, while he went to the kitchens for some refreshments.

"I'm not big on teas like you fine English people, so I hope you don't mind these," Armand said, putting down three large tankards of dark beer. He took one and leaned back to his seat, eyeing his guests. "So what d'you young fellows want to know?"

"We are hoping you could shed some light regarding the death of Robert," said Arthur. Trying to be polite, he took his tankard and sipped, but ended up coughing and wheezing that had Cara patting his back while the woodman across him laughed boisterously. "What in the world is this?!"

"Never heard of beer, lad?" Norris sniggered. "That's the problem with you fine English dames and gents. Always tea on your mind and nothing else."

Cara sipped her beer and hummed. "You're not from around here, Mister Woodman?"

"I come from the far north of here! Beyond your English borders!"

"Scotland?" Arthur suggested.

"Aye!" Norris raised his tankard for the writer.

"So what happened that day when Robert died?" Cara asked before the man could get carried away. "Lord Grosvenor told us you saw Robert with a stranger the day before he was found dead. He also said you were present when the villagers found Robert's body naked."

Norris gulped his beer and belched. "Right, I did all those, love."

"Could you tell us more about it?" Arthur prompted, ready to scribble.

"Fine, so listen carefully." Norris leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. "The first time I saw young Grosvenor was the last time anybody saw him alive−except for the killer, of course. I was chopping woods behind the house when I saw him entering the forest with another man. Just the two of them, you know, entering the forest."

Arthur raised his hand for a question. "Did you know it was Robert when you saw him?"

"No, not at once. He comes from London, yes? One of them rich people? Some dukes or earls, I bet."

"Duke of Westminster," Cara pointed out.

"So I let them be," Norris continued his narration. "Not my place to meddle in other people's business, especially not to someone so rich. I finished my chopping and went inside the house. I never heard anything strange and saw someone coming _from_ the forest. Nights here are darker, you see. Not much lights in the streets."

"No one came from the forest?" Arthur asked again, but his dark brown eyes were on his notebook.

"Not one soul," Norris confirmed. "The next day, I went to the station to deliver some firewood for one called Miss Bianchi−an Italian woman, very lovely." He winked playfully at Arthur, but the writer blushed and buried his nose back to his notes.

Cara laughed. "It was the same morning everyone found Robert?"

"Indeed. I arrived and found everyone by the tracks. Seems like the rich boy was ran over at first, but he never wore single clothes on him. Poor lad. He was naked from head to toe, not the same well-dressed boy I saw the night before. His parents were not there by the tracks, only the police officers and some higher-ups from the Yard who happen to be in town."

"How many from the Yard?" asked the young woman.

"Two or three, I think." Norris held up two fingers to emphasize his next explanation. "Two of them took the body in for examination. The other one was like this fellow over here−" He nodded to Arthur−"Always taking notes from the villagers."

Arthur took a deep breath and reviewed everything he had written so far. Nothing else made sense for him. "How did you come in contact with Lord Grosvenor then, when you said you don't want to meddle?"

"Ah, that." The woodman laughed and scratched his nape. "That's true; I didn't want to get involved. But the father was quite desperate and frenzied; he wanted to hear a different story from the Yard and offered good money."

"You chose the money?" Cara could not help but smile.

"Who wouldn't?" countered Norris, smirking. "But it happened; I told the father what I saw and I got my money. And now you fine people share a drink with me. Cheers?" He raised his tankard to Cara.

She laughed and clicked their drinks together.

Arthur tapped his pen on his chin. "So when did they start telling that Robert was found clothed instead of naked?"

"That's something I want to know as well," Norris said. "The next day everyone in town was just gossiping about this poor lad ran over by the train. I heard the Yard arrested the driver, who somehow confessed his guilt."

"You think Robert was murdered then?" Cara asked in a serious tone.

"I know he was." Norris's clear green eyes stared back at her. "You're a hunter, aye? You would know if someone looks off or not. And I knew something was out of place when I saw that boy's corpse."

She sighed and turned away. It was hard to imagine little Robert in his pristine white coffin.

Her eyes landed on the book on the small table next to her. _The Legend of Montrose_ , by Sir Walter Scott. She whipped back towards the woodman and realized that he was the same man who told her the news back in Mister Klein's bookstore last week. She remembered him now−the same auburn hair and thick beard with a cocky grin.

"One more thing," Arthur said. "Could you describe to us what the man looked like? The one you saw with Robert?"

Norris stroked his beard, thoughtful. "Well, I suppose he looks one of the gents in London. You know−fancy suit, shiny shoes, and I should say quite charming and fairly easy on the eyes. I should say about your height, young man; but with blond hair."

"Did you see his face?" the writer asked.

"No, just his side and back," Norris answered, but his gaze was locked intently on Cara. "He had blond hair and good suit, that's all."

* * *

Arthur and Cara thanked Armand Norris after that. They left the wooden house as the sun was sinking behind the mountains. With a little help from Norris, the pair was able to get a ride from a neighbor with a horse and an old cart. Norris stood by the end of the dirt road, waving his hand as the young pair disappeared from his sight. Then, with a little amused chuckle, went back home to finish his beer.

The train at the station whistled, while some operators were shouting for the last round of passengers bound for London.

Cara noticed the merchant from this morning; he was still there by the side of the road. Without words for her friend, she approached the large merchant with the scars on his face. "Good evening, sir. Have you heard anything about the boy that was ran over last week?"

"Hm?" The merchant blinked down at her, and grinned. "Oh, I remember. I saw him myself."

"Could you describe what he looked like?"

"A small fry, that's for sure. Really pale and thin."

"Was he clothed when you found him?"

"Oh, yes." The merchant shrugged his big shoulders, turning his back on her to fix his merchandise.

She narrowed her eyes when he glanced at her. "Could you describe the Yard who was here when the accident took place? The one always speaking and taking notes. Do you remember what he looked like?"

The merchant shrugged again. "Not from around here. He looks like some nobleman's son, you know. All shiny hair and good smile. Some of the young ladies mooned over him for a while."

She could feel her heart pounding now. "Did he have blond hair? Did you see his eyes?"

"Blond? Oh yes." He grinned and stared at her face. He winks. "His eyes? Very pretty shade of purple, but not as pretty as yours."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Coming back at you from my misadventures in the hospital! LOL. Apparently, I overfatigued myself from too much writing and sleeping so late at nights! Got meds and I had to tone down the writing for a short while. (︶︹︺) So, any writers and readers out there who like sleeping in the wee hours of the morning, take good care of yourself!

Also, sorry for the rather late update! It was my birthday on November 2nd and got wound up with some family dinner! I'm 22 years old now. Oof. So old!

* **DeLacus** \- Aw, thank you! And thank you always for the reviews! Grey is definitely one of my favorite characters, too! He's so spontaneous and cute and AHHH! Darling Edward Midford is high in the list as well. LMAO at Charkes being the "little one" and having his grandfather lecture him. That made me imagine of a cute little boy; I bet Charles was one when he was a kid!

ERWWIIINNN! 💔 It always hurts when I remember that he's dead, how he died, and Levi's struggles during and after the death. I'm glad the author didn't give us Levi's POV on the death too much. Else my heart will break even more. Also, it seems the next chapter would be out soon! Can't believe I am actually fangirling over Eren now. My little sweet and angery child grew up to be a hunk daddy... Sorry, I got carried away... 😅

* **Guest666-69** \- LMAO! If I had a chance to meet Grey in real life, I'd probably die of exhaustion! This man literally has endless energy and I don't think my socially awkward introvert self can handle him more than ten minutes. And I gotta thank you for putting the image of Grey being rough in bed in my mind because I can totally see it after his little play fight with Cara. And for making me imagine Grey having mistresses (not singular, but plural form!), because why not? Grey may or may not do so, but if he ever does, he might be discreet about it. He has, after all, still an image to uphold, especially when working directly under the Queen. At this point, I don't think Grey has strong opinions over Cara _yet_ ; more like a slight interest, the same way he regarded Mey-Rin during their first meeting just because she could fight. The "strong-armed dinner date" was just his childish way of getting back to her for lying at his face. Count on him to show himself unannouced just to see her get irked and fumble around helplessly while trying to accommodate a guest. Let's be honest: Grey has always been a little shit. XD Though he does seem to be curious about the social standing, being highborn and all that. We all have our moments of curiosities, only Grey has his little way of showing.

And no worries for the long reviews! I love reading anything from anyone! Thank you for yours!


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